Chapter 7 Relations #2
“You have a spy,” I said in disbelief.
His lips twitched.
“The Praecuri have a spy in their ranks.” I couldn’t tear my eyes off his. “You don’t think it’s an actual praecurus?”
Valor hesitated. He shut his mouth before opening it again.
“Officially, I cannot comment on that.” He gave me another apologetic look. “But it is a logical conclusion, dear cousin.”
My jaw tightened. “Where is he now? Arcturus?”
There was another silence.
I could practically feel Valor struggling that time.
“What?” I asked in alarm. “Where is he?”
“As promised, he’s perfectly fine, Leda,” Valor said, again lifting a hand to calm me. “However, there were…” Valor hesitated. “Well, I don’t know how much of this you will understand, given your newness here.”
He hesitated again, then cleared his throat.
“Since the attack, there has been a bit of a panic related to your brother’s security, as you can probably imagine.
The probability of an intelligence breach intensified that reaction.
A number of steps were taken to assess your brother’s readiness for being moved to Magique, in the event that ended up being necessary.
In the process of those assessments, anomalies were noted.
In his magic. They were significant enough to trigger a formal, and far more detailed, magical evaluation. ”
“Anomalies,” I said numbly. My mind fought to unpack everything he’d just said. “Anomalies,” I repeated. “Is he sick?”
Valor again shook his head. “No. These are natural things, Leda. I honestly wonder that your aunt didn’t notice while she lived.
” He cleared his throat. “Unlike many magical abilities, these should have become obvious at a young age.” He gave me a curious look, not quite a question, but almost. “Ankha was gifted in theurgy, so it is surprising she didn’t pick up on the differences in his aura after so many years of you both being in her charge. ”
I managed to not scoff at that, but only barely.
I was tempted to tell him our aunt probably only saw us a few hours out of every year, and made it clear she was even less interested in my brother than she was in me.
“His current guardians had noticed, although they hadn’t yet put a name to it,” Valor La Fey added.
“They realized your brother’s magic, even suppressed as it was, didn’t observe the normal patterns for most Magicals.
They had asked for some of these evaluations as early as spring of last year, but their petition was denied. ”
I frowned, still fighting to keep up.
“He’s hybrid––” I began.
“It’s not that, cousin.”
I stared up at him. I saw meaning in his eyes, but I had no idea what I was supposed to understand.
“Arcturus spent most of today undergoing tests, by numerous experts,” Valor went on carefully. “This is not unusual, by the way, in circumstances such as his. Prior to coming of age, I mean. Especially when a Magical didn’t obtain all the standard evaluations at birth.”
I was still staring at him, still waiting for him to get to the point. I’d known Arcturus was different, of course, but I’d had no way to evaluate that, even after I knew we were half-Magical. If he wasn’t sick, or twisted from being hybrid, what did that leave?
“What’s wrong with him?” I asked finally.
“Nothing, cousin.” Valor shook his head vehemently. “There is absolutely nothing wrong with him. His magic has simply been found to belong to a different caste.”
I frowned, now confused for real.
“A different caste than what?” I asked.
“Well.” My cousin exhaled. “A different caste than you. Or I, for that matter.” His green eyes met mine, nearly colorless in the moonlight. He appeared hesitant again, cautious. “He’s not an ordinary Magical. Do you understand what that means?”
I didn’t, really.
I hadn’t studied much about the four main castes among Magicals.
Out of the four, only ordinary Magicals and Warlocks attended Malcroix Bones, so those were the only kinds I’d ever knowingly seen in the flesh.
There’d been a short section on Magical variation in one of my magistory tests the previous year.
I’d had to list out the basic characteristics of each, how they differed, how they were trained, how they were generally employed, and some of the theories around genetic differentiation.
The test hadn’t really been about that; it was part of a section on the Caste Wars of the Thirteenth Century.
I knew I belonged to the ordinary caste of Magicals.
That was the caste no one really referred to as a caste at all, but simply as “Magical,” or “Mage” or sometimes “Wizard.” My blood made me different, but my caste, oddly enough, was the same as every other Magical I knew.
Apart from those like me, I knew there were Warlocks, who were born with a strong predisposition towards the fighting arts.
They came in with exaggerated reflexes, exaggerated muscle-to-body-mass ratios, and usually a difference in size, arm and leg length, body chemistry, and so on.
The real difference was in their magic, however, which operated differently than that of an ordinary Magical.
Those differences excluded them from a number of professions in ordinary Magique.
They tended to be career military, Praecuri, British Magical Enforcement, or one of the other Magical equivalents to law enforcement.
Next there were Oracles, who had a strong predisposition to seeing future events, to building chimaeras, and to the Seer Arts more generally, to the point where they had to be trained in entirely different schools until they learned to control the ability.
Like Warlocks, the difference lived primarily in their magic.
Oracles operated magic at entirely different frequencies from ordinary Magicals.
They also saw, felt, and experienced things that ordinary Magicals didn’t.
They, like Warlocks, could do things we couldn’t, and vice versa.
Their job opportunities tended to be more varied than those of Warlocks, but obviously. they clustered in professions where their unique abilities were highly valued.
Then there was the strangest of the four, the one they called––
“Obeah,” my cousin said. He cleared his throat. “Your brother was tested, and determined to belong to the Obeah caste, Leda.”
I stared at him, fighting to not react.
I could feel my pulse, and my breath, growing more agitated.
“Do you know what that means?” Valor asked me carefully.
“No,” I said at once.
I heard the strain in my voice.
Despite my answer, I felt myself frantically struggling to remember everything I’d ever read about the Obeah.
They weren’t magic wielders at all, from my memory.
They, alone, among all the castes, had no ability to perform magic, at least not in the way it was normally thought of.
They couldn’t cast spells or perform rituals that acted on the natural world, not even as a seer, like Oracles could do.
Rather, Obeah had very peculiar and exacting vision into the nature of all magic. They were tasked with––
“He’s been transferred to the Sanctum Occulus,” Valor said gently. “They will take good care of him there, Leda. The Obeah are very protective of their own.”
“There’s no doubt––” I began.
“None whatsoever.” He again sounded apologetic.
“They have already accepted him at the Sanctum. Their representative came to evaluate him personally after all the other tests were run, and conferred his new status on the spot. He’d left with your brother by the time I got summoned to the Ethnarch’s chambers. ”
Valor hesitated again, as if unsure whether I’d understand the import of this.
“The blood issue does not seem to concern them, if that is any reassurance,” he added carefully.
“Like you, Arcturus tested very highly within the standards used by Obeah to evaluate talent among their own. They seemed quite pleased to have him. There has not been a La Fey born into the Obeah in at least six hundred years.”
Silence fell between us once Valor finished speaking.
I knew the silence was my fault.
I knew I should say or ask or do something.
My cousin cleared his throat.
“There are legal requirements in a case such as this,” he continued, his voice still cautious.
“The Ethnarch’s office is notified of any caste reassignments.
Also, the nearest kin to any Magical who changes classification must be told, legally, within seventy-two hours of the change.
The determination was made just a few hours ago for Arcturus, but once the Ethnarch was told, he thought it better to deliver the news before you had begun classes. ”
Valor coughed.
“The Ethnarch had originally thought to come himself, until it was deemed unwise by his security team.” His voice and face remained difficult to read.
“…I volunteered,” he added, somewhat unnecessarily.
I nodded.
“Okay,” I said.
I didn’t trust myself to say much more than that. I didn’t know my cousin at all, but I wanted to shake him by his fancy black cloak, maybe scream a few obscenities while demanding that he explain to me what any of this actually meant.
My cousin, seemingly at a loss, probably because I was acting like someone with a concussion, turned to leave.
Unthinking, I grabbed his arm before he could complete the motion.
“He’ll live here, though?” I asked. “Here, in Magique?”
Valor’s eyes relaxed.
“Yes. Of course he will, cousin.” He patted my hand soothingly.
“Arcturus will be fine. It’s better, really, to have him identified now rather than later.
If he’d been forced to wait until he was of age, he’d be at a considerable disadvantage among his peers.
Obeah are different than us. They train differently.
He’ll make up the distance in schooling much faster now. ”
I nodded, barely hearing the last few things he said.
I still gripped his arm in my fingers.
“Can I visit him?” I asked.