The message arrives with the sunrise, carried by a courier who looks like he'd rather be anywhere else. Traditional wax seal, formal parchment that crackles when I unfold it. Old-fashioned intimidation tactics wrapped in ceremony.
Korgan of the Dongoran line,
Your conduct dishonors our clan. The human female compromises your standing and ours. Withdraw immediately or face the Rite of Severance.
Elder Throkad, speaking for the Circle
I read it twice, then set it on fire with the hotel room's complimentary matches. The smoke detector starts shrieking immediately.
"Shit."
Twenty minutes later, after explaining to hotel security that I was conducting a "cultural ritual" and promising to pay for a new detector, I sit on the bed and stare at the ashes in the bathroom sink.
The Rite of Severance. Haven't heard that particular threat in fifteen years, not since my cousin Grizelda tried to marry outside the clan and got cut off entirely. She runs a successful shipping business in Glasgow now, but she's dead to our people. Hername can't be spoken at clan gatherings. Her children will never know their orc heritage.
My phone dings. Text message from an unknown number.
Brother. Heard about the message. Don't do anything stupid. - Uktag
Uktag. My war-brother, the only one who still talks to me after the border incident. If he's texting instead of calling, it means the clan's watching his communications too.
I type back:Define stupid.
Choosing a human over your people.
She has a name.
Not to them.
The conversation dies there. Uktag's caught between loyalty and politics, same as always. He'll support me privately but won't risk his own standing publicly. Can't blame him for that. I've made the same calculation plenty of times.
My phone rings. Unknown number again, but the prefix is familiar. Scotland.
"Korgan." My voice comes out rougher than intended.
"You sound like shit, nephew."
Uncle Drogar. Of course. The clan's enforcer, the one they send when gentle persuasion fails.
"Uncle."
"Heard you're making a fool of yourself on human television."
"Heard you're still ugly as a cave troll."
He laughs, a sound like grinding stone. "There's my boy. Listen, this doesn't have to get complicated. Come home, do the ritual cleansing, marry that nice Morghana girl from the Ironhold clan. Everything goes back to normal."
"Morghana has tusks bigger than mine and the personality of wet granite."
"She'd give you strong sons."
"I'd rather adopt a rabid badger."
"Korgan." His voice drops, losing the familial warmth. "They're serious about this. The Circle's already preparing the ritual space. You have three days."
"Or what? You'll disown me? Strip my name from the family stones? Make it so my own mother can't acknowledge me at market?"
"Yes."
