Going Down in Flames (Going Down in Flames #1)(55)

“Most female dragons take what’s offered because they don’t have any other choice.” Zavien’s voice softened. “I’m not saying it’s right. It’s just the way things have always been done.”

“I’m beginning to understand why someone keeps burning their houses down.” Bryn slumped in the chair. “I’ll burn the book. You can teach me to draw.”

“Good.” Zavien shifted his head to the side and popped his neck.

“There’s one more thing.” The talk of burning down houses reminded her of the Black dragons in the forest.

“There’s more?” Clint asked. “How could there be more since we last saw you?”

“It’s been a busy day,” Bryn snapped. “I met the Orange dragons in the forest.”

“What were they like?” Ivy asked.

“They’re nice.” She returned to the reason for bringing up this topic. “Zavien, have you ever met a Black dragon with a tattoo that covers his torso?”

“Why do you ask?” There was a note of alarm in his voice.

It was obvious he wasn’t being completely honest with her, so she returned the favor. “When we flew back from the lake, I saw a man with long, dark hair and a blue and black chest. I figured it must be a tattoo.”

“I know of him and his friends. They’re the more radical members of the Revisionists.”

“Should we tell someone where they are?” She hoped not. They didn’t seem like individuals she wanted to piss off.

“They live in the forest. The Directorate knows where to find them. Please tell me this is your last confession for today.”

Ivy raised her hand.

“When did I become a teacher?” Zavien asked.

“You’re crabby enough to be a teacher,” Clint muttered.

Ivy cleared her throat. “Sending the charred remains of a book to someone who works for the Directorate might not be a smart idea when there is an arsonist at large.”

“You’re so smart.” Clint put his arm around her shoulders.

“She’s right.” Zavien held out his hand. “Let me read the letter to make sure you sent the right message.”

“Fine.” Bryn tossed it to him.

He ripped open the envelope and pulled out the one-page letter. His lips moved as he read. Then he laughed. “I shouldn’t have doubted you. You made your point very clear.”

“Thank you.”

Zavien tucked the letter in his pocket. “I know I’ve said some stupid things, but I want to keep you safe. The idea of guys like Merrick prowling around makes me want to fry someone.” He held his hand out, and a small lightning bolt appeared.

Did he feel that way because he felt like her big brother or because he was jealous? Maybe it was a combination of both. Unless someone had a crystal ball, she wasn’t likely to get an answer.

Time to change the topic. “Isn’t the first stagecraft meeting tonight?”

“The stagecraft meeting is at seven, and the acting meeting is at seven twenty,” Zavien said. “They shouldn’t take long.”

Bryn stretched out on the carpet and closed her eyes, willing her body to relax. A nap would be wonderful. She drifted while her friends talked.

“Bryn.” Zavien’s voice sounded light and teasing.

She opened one eye. He wore the lopsided grin she hadn’t seen in a while. “Yes?”

“What’s with the flamingoes?” The other corner of his mouth turned up as she moaned and covered her face with her hands.

“I like them. They’re fun, and they make me happy. All right?”

“She has an entire zoo in her underwear drawer,” Ivy said. “They’re all ridiculous.”

“You have flamingoes on your underwear?” Clint said.

Bryn sat up. “Yes, I do. Do you have a problem with that?”

“Nope.” Clint turned his head and laughed.

…

At a quarter till seven, they flew over to the auditorium. The room resembled an oversize movie theater. There were rows of upholstered seats, but instead of a movie screen, the focal point of the room was a giant stage made of polished wood. From her seat in the back row, Bryn noticed the predominant hair color in the room was black. A few redheads and brunettes were sprinkled here and there. Not a single blond head was visible.

“I guess the Blues think they’re too good to work behind the scenes,” Clint muttered.

“That’s what I was thinking,” Bryn responded.

Nola sat on the edge of the stage, wearing an ethereal dress of floral fabric. On anyone else, it would’ve been ridiculous. Nola looked like a special-edition, dark-haired Easter Barbie. She opened a black case, pulled out a violin, and dragged a bow across the strings. The sustained note caught everyone’s attention.

“I prefer not to yell,” Nola said. “Tonight, we’ll discuss what stagecraft is and what it isn’t. If you want to contribute to other people’s success, then stagecraft is a good match. If the only person you want to succeed is yourself, then stick to acting.”

“That seems harsh,” Ivy said.

Bryn nodded.

“In stagecraft, you’ll learn to paint sets and sew costumes. You’ll make new friends outside your Clan. If those things appeal to you, then you’re in the right place.”