Chapter Twenty-Four
After Valmont left, Bryn found herself back in the small dining room for dinner, sitting at the stupid table that could seat sixteen people, with only her grandparents for company. Her grandmother sat at one end of the rectangular table and her grandfather sat at the other. She was in the middle, which felt like no-man’s-land.
Were her grandparents mad at her? Was that why no one was talking? Or was this how they ate every day? After ten minutes of listening to utensils hitting plates, she couldn’t take it anymore.
“Is this normal?” she asked.
“What are you referring to?” her grandfather asked.
“This.” Bryn pointed from one end of the table to another. “Do you always sit at opposite ends of the room and not talk?”
They both gave her blank stares. Great. “If it’s just the two of you, why don’t you sit at a smaller table? If it’s just the three of us we could still sit at a smaller table. Or at least we could talk.”
“What would you like to talk about?” her grandfather asked.
Okay. She’d walked right into that one. “For starters, what did you do today?”
Her grandfather wiped his face with the linen napkin and sat back in his chair. “I reviewed plans for a better defense system at school.”
She was surprised he was willing to share. “What did you come up with?” Short of a giant dome placed over the school, she couldn’t figure out how they would stop any further attacks.
“I can’t divulge that information.” His eyes narrowed. “You were there during the attacks. What can you tell me about them?”
She sipped her water and thought about the best way to present information to her grandfather. She should probably keep the smart-ass comments to a minimum.
“Well, the first time the campus was attacked, I thought it was an earthquake. It was only afterward that I realized someone had attacked using sonic waves.” She remembered Octavius mentioning the Orange Clan’s dwindling numbers. “There are only two Orange dragons at school and they were cleared of charges. What happened to the Orange dragons? Why are there so few of them?”
Her grandfather frowned. “That is a good question. I don’t have the answer.”
“So, the Directorate didn’t do anything to decrease their population?”
Her grandfather leveled a glare at her that could have melted steel. “Where did you hear such nonsense?”
“Uhm, from the one Orange male student at the institute? Because the Orange dragons’ breath weapon, sonic waves, are so powerful, he thinks someone is keeping their population small. Could he be right?”
“That’s ridiculous.”
She couldn’t help noticing he didn’t answer the question. Maybe it was time to change the topic. “The second time the campus was attacked, I was in the theater building. The building twisted and shook like we were having a tornado, and then it just stopped.”
“That’s when Rhianna was injured.” Her grandfather stated this like it was a boring fact. Like he didn’t care or feel any empathy toward the girl Bryn had begun to think of as a friend.
“I don’t understand why Ferrin voided the contract between Jaxon and Rhianna. So she has a limp. Big deal. It’s not genetic. She won’t pass it to their children. Other dragons were injured. What’s happening to them?”
“The Directorate offers anyone who isn’t comfortable with returning to school a private tutor.”
Smoke shot from Bryn’s nostrils. “The only reason someone wouldn’t be comfortable returning to school is because the Directorate and other dragons tell them they shouldn’t be seen in public. What’s the deal with dragons’ insistence on physical perfection? There are tons of people who survive and flourish with all sorts of disabilities. Look at Stephen Hawking. He’s the smartest man on the planet and he isn’t physically perfect.”
“He’s a man.” Her grandfather emphasized the last word. “We aren’t men. We are creatures, animals, it is our instinct to cull the weak from the herd. We can’t risk a dragon passing on inferior genes.”
And now her head was going to explode. “So if a dragon is injured during an attack the Directorate failed to prevent, injured by an enemy the Directorate failed to protect them from, that makes them weak? How is that logical?”
“Strong dragons will find a way to escape the attack or fight back.” Her grandfather said this like it actually made sense.
“So Rhianna is weak because she failed to predict that sets held in the rafters would crash down on her and sever her spinal cord? Garrett is weak because he failed to predict that giant hailstones would be shot through the sky, ripping into his wings? Do you not see how screwed up that logic is?”
“That’s how it has always been,” her grandmother said. “Like we discussed before. If you plan to live among us, you must learn our ways. You don’t have to agree with them. But you can’t publicly express an opinion against the Directorate. Someone is trying to splinter us off into Clans, which is a battle tactic so they can pick us off one group at a time. We must present a united front or we’ll appear to be easy targets.”
Okay. What her grandmother said made some sense, except for the one gaping hole. “If you were out flying and someone shot a giant hailstone through your wing, that wouldn’t make you weak, it would make you unlucky. You can’t punish people for things they have no control over.”
“This isn’t open to debate,” her grandfather said in his “I am God” voice.
“Your house was attacked during the Directorate meeting. Your guests were kidnapped and almost killed. Does that mean you’re weak?”
Her grandfather’s posture stiffened. His expression went hard and flat.
Time to backpedal before they shipped her belongings to a dark corner of the basement. “I’m not saying you’re weak. I’m saying your logic of blaming the victim is wrong. The fact that this house was attacked shouldn’t reflect badly upon you.”
“But it does,” her grandfather said. “And I have taken precautions so I won’t appear weak ever again.”
Wow. Logic didn’t have much effect on this guy.
“Maybe we should agree to disagree,” Bryn said.
“You’re the one who wanted to talk in the first place.” Her grandfather went back to eating his meal.
True. Maybe silence was better.
…
After dinner Bryn returned to her room just to get away from the possibility of any more annoying conversations with her grandfather. His “cull the herd” mentality was total crap. What she needed was a good book to take her mind off all this insanity, so she wandered down to the library. Thinking about going into the library was one thing; actually stepping foot in the room where a month or so ago she’d nearly died proved a bit more difficult.
The room looked different than she remembered it. There was still a sitting area in front of the fireplace, but the large mahogany table that occupied the back half of the room had been replaced by a desk. Palms sweating, she crossed the threshold and ignored the uptick in her heartbeat. Nothing would happen to her here. It was just a room.
The floor-to-ceiling bookshelves held an assortment of books. Some looked stiff and new, like they’d never been opened. Others had cracked leather bindings and were huge tomes like the books from the school library. A book with a golden spine and “Tales of Time” written in silver lettering caught her attention. She grabbed the book and leafed through it. Short stories about different dragons filled the pages. Interesting.
She laid it on the desk and searched for more books about historical dragons that might hold some information about hybrids. Her grandfather wouldn’t allow any anti-Directorate books in his library, but she might find some references to hybrids.
“What are you doing in here?” her grandfather’s voice boomed through the room.
Don’t panic. Don’t show fear. Don’t give a smart-ass answer. She closed the book she’d been reading and turned to face him. “I thought I’d find something to read.”
He stalked toward her. “In my office?”
Well, crap. “The last time I was here, this was a library. I didn’t realize you’d turned it into your office.” Sure, there were folders stacked on the desk and an ashtray, but the room certainly didn’t look lived in.
“It’s one of my offices.” His eyes narrowed as he picked up Tales of Time. “Why did you choose this?”
No way would she utter the term “hybrid” in his presence. “I have to write three five-page term papers on the history of dragons. The history text is dry. I thought there might be something interesting in here to inspire me.”
“If you’re looking for inspiration”—he walked to the shelves and selected a brown leather book from the top shelf—“try this.”
The book was easily eight inches thick. Bryn grabbed it and read the title, Directorate Law, Volume I. If it was written in legal terminology, she’d have to pass. Flipping to the first text-covered page, she read an account of a trial. A Black dragon had been accused of stealing artwork from a Blue’s office. Testimonies were given. The art was never found, but the Black dragon was given the choice of creating a series of portraits for the Blue or being incarcerated for a month. He chose incarceration. That was strange.
“Are you confused by his choice?” her grandfather asked.
Geez, did he have these cases memorized? “Yes.”
“Later, it was found that one of the maids had taken the paintings. For lying and stealing from her employer, she was sentenced to five years in jail. The Black dragon who had been wronged was given a new studio stocked with art supplies.”
“If the Black dragon didn’t do it, why did they put him in jail in the first place?”
“He seemed the most likely suspect, but you’re missing the most important part. The Black dragon could have taken the blame for stealing the paintings, done the commissioned work without pay, and gone on with his life. Instead, he told the truth, maintained his innocence, and proved himself honorable by not taking the liar’s way out.”
The twisted logic made her head hurt. “So he was rewarded for choosing jail time he didn’t deserve rather than lying and essentially paying a fine of free portraits.”
“Yes,” her grandfather said. “Loyalty and honor are more important than taking the easy way out.”
He seemed to expect some sort of response. “I’m not sure what you want me to say.”
“I don’t want you to say anything. I want you to understand our belief system and act accordingly.”
The phone on his desk rang, saving her from coming up with some sort of response. She used that chance to escape, opting to leave the books behind, afraid he might quiz her on the court cases later.
...
The next morning, Bryn woke late. It was the first time since coming to school that the damn stress-inducing alarm clock hadn’t woken her. Talk about a bonus. Of course, after Christmas break, she’d have to return to school and deal with it again. But this was a nice sabbatical.
Okay, she was awake. Now what? Would her grandmother call and ask her to come down to breakfast? Could she go have breakfast by herself somewhere? That sounded nice. In this ginormous house there had to be a quiet room with a normal-sized kitchen table somewhere.
Rather than wander for hours, she decided to ask Rindy, the all-knowing phone fairy. After dialing and waiting for the call back, she learned there were tables in a sunroom on the third floor. Abigail would have breakfast waiting for her in thirty minutes. Having money didn’t necessarily make you happy, but it certainly made life easier.
After a quick shower, she dressed in jeans and a nice blouse (as a concession to her grandmother). Until she was told there was a formal dress code in the house, she would continue to wear tennis shoes and jeans.
Silence met her when she walked down the hallway. Her tennis shoes made no sound. Why have such a giant house for two people? From her conversations with her grandparents yesterday, everything seemed to be about keeping up appearances.
Living your entire life that way would be exhausting. She’d do her best to keep her grandparents happy, but there were limits. People could think what they wanted. She didn’t give a rat’s ass.
Almost every room she passed had a closed door. Was there a living room somewhere, a place to sit and watch TV or listen to music? There were five freaking stories in this mansion. There had to be a television somewhere.
When she came to the stairs, she looked up and down to see if anyone else was around. Nope. She was by herself. Wanting to burn off some anxiety, she jogged up the stairs to the third-floor landing. The back wall of the landing was floor-to-ceiling windows. Trees and manicured greenery went on for as far as she could see. If she were in charge, she’d put a table and chairs right here to enjoy the view. How isolated were they out here? Maybe she’d ask Valmont to bring her a map.
Rindy had said the sunroom was the second door on the left after the landing. When she entered the room, she spotted Abigail collapsed on the floor next to the food cart.