Bridges Burned (Going Down in Flames #2)(65)

“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?”