29. Brakkus #2
The old woman crossed the chamber at her own pace, cane tapping once for every step, until she stood near the center circle. She turned her sharp eyes on me, then on Hannah, who was the only human in the room.
“Stand beside him, girl.”
Hannah rose carefully with Otto in her arms. I hated that she had to stand before a room full of strangers while they examined something that should have belonged only to us. The matcher studied us in silence, her nostrils flaring as her gaze moved from my face to Hannah’s.
“Did he tell you about the mate bond?” she asked Hannah.
Hannah’s fingers tightened against Otto’s back. “Yes.”
“And you understood that meant you would never be a casual bedmate?”
Color rose in Hannah’s cheeks, but her voice stayed steady. “Yes.”
Everyone present waited while the Vossics watched with the confidence of people expecting the old woman to destroy my life with a single sentence.
The matcher studied Hannah for another long moment before giving a dismissive snort. “Of course there’s a bond.”
Whispers spread through the benches. People shifted in their seats. Several councilors exchanged looks. Across the room, Orsala’s face went blank. Theron didn’t move at all.
The old woman tapped her cane against the stone. “Which the two of you could have learned by asking a matcher in private, without putting a human woman in front of a full chamber to be looked at.”
A few gazes dropped. A few didn’t.
She looked toward the dais. “Brakkus Drakkar has a second mate bond with this human. Claimed or not, she’s his.”
I didn’t feel triumphant as I watched the Vossics’ trap fold inward on itself. They’d brought an expert witness into the hearing to destroy me, and instead she had undermined their accusation.
Theron recovered. “Whether Ms. Brooks is his mate or not, our concern is still with Mr. Drakkar himself.” He turned away from the matcher and faced the dais. “The child is being raised by a man whose entire public identity is built on violence, vulgarity, and spectacle.”
A few people shifted on the benches. He’d stopped pretending this was about Otto.
“Mr. Drakkar is known across human and crypto-terrestrial media as The Brute,” Theron said, and he made the name sound like something dragged in on a boot.
“A cage fighter. A merchandiser of orc aggression. A man who sells tusk jokes and bloodsport to humans who enjoy watching our kind brutalize each other for laughs.”
I felt the sting of familiar judgment.
Theron kept going. “This is not the life Nadia’s son should inherit. Otto Vossic Drakkar is not a mascot for a protein line or a spectacle brand. He is an Old Quarter child through his mother, and he deserves better than to be raised inside his father’s commercial performance of orcness.”
I felt the eyes of the old-blood families, the council, and the observers who had come to watch. Then someone on the side benches said, “He fought in true form when half this room was still hiding behind their human masks.”
A few heads nodded, and Theron’s mouth tightened. Another orc, older, scarred across one cheek, leaned back with his arms folded. “He made humans cheer for cryptids instead of run from them.”
Near the back, a woman in a dark green jacket said, “The Brute encouraged a generation of young orcs to be proud of their heritage.”
Someone else muttered, “And it made him richer than half the old families here.”
The councilor struck the stone once in warning, and the crowd quieted.
Theron had meant to prove I was crude and unsafe. Instead, he had reminded the room that I built my life by being out and proud when most of the people here were still hiding.
His contempt had shown itself for what it really was. He was no longer arguing that Otto’s welfare was at risk; he was revealing his disgust for me and the life I had built for myself in the new world.
The council let the silence hold long enough for everyone to understand the decision. The old bull with white in his hair looked down the dais, meeting the eyes of each councilor in turn. No one spoke against him and he struck the stone once.
“This council does not recognize standing for intervention under the maternal-line petition presented by Theron and Orsala Vossic.”
Orsala’s chin lifted as though the words had struck her. Theron went utterly still beside her.
The councilor continued. “Otto Drakkar has a living father. No abandonment has been shown. No finding of danger has been presented by any human, enclave, or clan authority with jurisdiction over the child. This council will not lend Old Quarter standing to removal, forced household oversight, or continued pressure against a fit parent from another enclave.”
Murmurs spread through the chamber. Conversations broke out among the old-blood families. The Vossics expert had confirmed my mate bond, their attack on Hannah had backfired, and their contempt for my public life had exposed the real nature of their argument.
The claim had failed. Theron’s hands flexed at his sides. Orsala opened her mouth as if to object, then closed it. Their anger was obvious, but the council had left them no clean path forward. Otto shifted in Hannah’s lap and made a small tired sound. I looked at him then.
The Old Quarter would not help the Vossics take him. Relief hit me, but it didn’t feel like a victory. Hannah still stood beside me as the unclaimed mate I had let go. And I had no idea how I would win her back.