29. Brakkus
Brakkus
Our suite was all dark wood, wool rugs, and tall windows looking down over the narrow street. Morning light spilled across the breakfast table, illuminating an empty pot of coffee, a basket full of crumbs from the honey rolls, the last of the sliced fruit, and an empty plate of eggs.
I checked the documents in my satchel for the fifth time. Medical notes. Photographs. Statements. Everything I needed to prove I was a fit parent.
Hannah sat at the breakfast table, checking the contents of his diaper bag while Otto remained in his high chair beside her.
His blanket hung over the back of the chair behind him, one corner twisted damp from his mouth, and his water cup sat within easy reach on his tray beside a scattering of breakfast crumbs.
Otto watched Hannah’s hands with solemn concentration. When she moved a chilled teething ring from one pocket to another, his fingers caught her shirt sleeve.
“I’m not going anywhere,” she told him.
Moments later, we were in the car rolling through the gate in the iron fence.
I then pulled into a cobbled forecourt and killed the engine.
Then Hannah got out and lifted Otto from his car seat, settling him on her hip with the diaper bag over her shoulder.
I took my satchel off the seat and we crossed the cobbles toward a severe old building of gray stone, its windows arched and set deep in walls thick enough to hold back a hill.
Above the entrance, three interlocked tusks were cut into the lintel.
The doors were oak bound in iron, tall enough that I wouldn’t have to duck.
Inside, the air was cool and smelled of beeswax and woodsmoke.
A porter in a dark vest shut the door behind us and walked us down a corridor hung with carved clan markers and oil portraits of orcs in human form.
Otto stopped babbling and ducked against Hannah.
At the far end, another set of doors stood closed, and behind them I could hear a room that was already full.
The porter opened the door and announced us.
Seven councilors sat facing the room from the raised dais.
Tiered benches ran the length of both walls.
The Old Quarter’s established families had taken the seats nearest the front.
Farther back, I picked out Breakstone faces, and others I knew from years in the ring, men and women who had come because they knew who I was.
Formal proceedings required true form, so I came as myself.
Theron and Orsala stood across the chamber in true form too.
They were dressed correctly, of course, in tailored dark clothes cut for orc shoulders, with polished tusk caps, smooth hair, and composed posture.
They knew every council member on the dais.
But they did not look comfortable inside the bodies they wanted the room to believe they honored.
Hannah settled Otto onto her lap on a bench and I sat beside them. The proceeding opened with a strike of iron against stone, and every voice in the chamber died at once. One of the councilors, an old bull with white braided through his black hair, looked down at a sheet of thick cream paper.
“State the petition.”
Theron stepped forward. “Theron Vossic and Orsala Vossic petition through the maternal line of Nadia Vossic Drakkar for recognition of standing regarding the placement and welfare of Otto Drakkar.”
The councilor nodded. “The petition is entered.”
Hannah’s hand settled over Otto’s stomach. He leaned back against her, quiet and watchful.
The words sounded procedural. What they meant was that seven orcs who had never set foot in my house were going to rule on whether my son was safe in it. The councilor gestured toward the center circle.
“You may present your argument.”
Theron inclined his head. “Thank you, Councilor.” His voice was calm and measured.
“We appear today because Nadia Vossic Drakkar is deceased. Her son no longer has access to his maternal household, his maternal traditions, or the family structures that would ordinarily support an orc child after such a loss.”
He paused. “But this petition is not only about grief. It is about the child’s welfare.
Since Nadia’s death, Otto Drakkar has been raised in a household increasingly isolated from his maternal kin and increasingly dependent on hired human caregivers selected by his father.
That arrangement has already compromised the child’s privacy, exposed him to public exploitation, and created attachments outside any recognized clan structure. ”
A low murmur moved through the benches.
“We are asking this council to recognize our standing before further harm is done. Because his father has already shown poor judgment in raising him since his mother’s death.”
Theron turned slightly toward the council. “We are prepared to present evidence.”
Orsala stepped forward with a slim black folder in her hands. She handed the folder to a council attendant, who carried it to the long table below the dais and distributed copies to the council before mounting three enlarged tabloid pages on black display stands facing the chamber.
Cryptid Confidential in block red letters. With a headline about the Brute’s neglected heir.
“These images were taken inside Brakkus Drakkar’s private home,” Orsala said. “They were sold to Cryptid Confidential by a nanny he hired and trusted.”
Theron let the tabloid pages sit where everyone could see them before he spoke again.
“The concern is not only that this happened once,” he said. “It is that the same judgment continued afterward.”
His gaze moved from the display stands to Hannah.
“After a human nanny sold private images of Otto Drakkar to Cryptid Confidential, Mr. Drakkar brought another human caregiver into the household. Another outsider granted intimate daily access to a grieving orc child.”
Hannah did not move. Otto sat in her lap with one hand curled around the edge of his blanket.
“And that outsider did not remain at a professional distance,” Theron continued. “She became central enough to this household that her absence destabilized it, and now she has been brought back to sit here with the child in her lap as if she holds a recognized maternal place.”
A murmur moved through the benches. My jaw tightened. I didn’t look at Hannah for long because the guilt was too sharp; I had let her leave, convinced it would protect Otto.
The councilor looked to me. “Mr. Drakkar?”
I stepped into the center circle.
“Ms. Brooks left after the Vossics made it clear they intended to use her presence against my household,” I said. “When they escalated anyway and demanded my son be brought here, I brought her back because Otto needed consistent care through travel and disruption.”
Otto made a small sound. Hannah lowered her mouth to his hair. I kept my eyes on the council.
Theron turned back to the council, as if my explanation had only proved his point. “Care,” he repeated. “That is a generous word for what has been permitted to develop in Mr. Drakkar’s household.”
Orsala’s eyes moved to Hannah. “Our original petition raised the question of whether Ms. Brooks was merely a nanny.”
The audience shifted around us. Not loudly. Old Quarter people were too polished for that. But a chair creaking under someone’s weight. Two voices murmured along the benches before going silent.
“A human employee entered the home of a recently widowed orc,” Orsala said. “She was hired to provide daily care inside that home. We have reason to believe Mr. Drakkar began an intimate relationship with Ms. Brooks while she was employed in his home.”
A sharper murmur moved through the benches. A few low voices carried just enough for Hannah to hear without giving her anything clean to answer.
One of the councilors leaned forward. “Mr. Drakkar, is Ms. Brooks’s role in your household solely professional? Or has there been an intimate relationship between you?”
The chamber went still.
I looked at Hannah for a brief moment because what I said would affect our relationship.
“Ms. Brooks’s role in my household is not solely professional. She is also my mate.”
People reacted more strongly to the word mate than they had to anything else. Orsala went still. Theron’s eyes sharpened. Let them deal with the truth instead of hiding behind gossip.
One of the councilors leaned forward. “Your mate?”
“Yes.”
“Have you claimed her?”
“Not yet.” I felt Hannah shift behind me. “She is human. The bond is new to her. The consequences of a claiming bite are permanent, and she deserves time to understand what that means.”
The councilor’s gaze moved past me toward Hannah. I was done pretending my silence was protecting her.
“She is not an illicit secret,” I said. “She is my second mate. Unclaimed by my bite, but not unnamed by me.”
Theron’s mouth tightened.
Orsala was the one who stepped in. “How convenient.” A few heads turned toward her.
“A human employee becomes the subject of improper intimacy inside the household, and when the impropriety is exposed, Mr. Drakkar recasts it as a sacred bond.” Her gaze moved over the council.
“A second mate. Unclaimed. Unmarked. Unverified. Useful language, certainly.”
A low sound moved in my chest before I caught it. Otto stirred in Hannah’s lap, and I forced my jaw to loosen. They wanted me to snarl and lose control in front of a room full of polished people who already expected a Breakstone brute to lose his cool. I would not give them that satisfaction.
Theron faced the dais.
“A claiming bite would settle the matter,” the councilor said. “Without one, only a qualified matcher may speak to the presence or absence of a bond. Have the petitioners brought such a witness?”
Orsala inclined her head. “We have.”
A side door opened near the dais, and an elderly orc woman stepped into the chamber with a carved black cane. Her silver hair was coiled at the back of her head. The Vossics seemed certain they had brought someone who could prove I was an unfit parent.