Going Down In Flames: Bridges Burned Part 26

"It's okay." Her eyes burned. "I'll be back in a minute."

After splashing her face with cold water, she checked the mirror. Wow. Those actresses in movies who cried and managed to look pretty afterward must be super talented. Her eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot. Her nose was tomato red and her cheeks looked as windburned as they felt. Looking like c.r.a.p when she felt like c.r.a.p didn't seem fair. A girl should be able to catch a break somewhere. Wait a minute. She channeled Quintessence to her face and returned her cheeks to normal color. Her eyes she didn't want to mess with.

Valmont's sweatshirt hung on the hook on the back of the bathroom door where she'd left it when she'd changed earlier. Would he want to change out of his tear-soaked and dear G.o.d please don't let it be snot-stained shirt into something drier? She'd offer it to him and see what he thought.

When she went back into the living room area, Valmont was whispering into his cell phone. Who was he calling? Was he trying to keep something from her?

Feeling wrong about what she was going to do but doing it anyway, she walked up behind him quietly and listened as best she could.

"Yes, Grandfather. I know. There isn't much we can do about it now. Yes. I'll ask her. No...no, that isn't an option at this point. I'll stop by on my way to the cabin. No. You don't have to meet me there. Yes...yes... Fine, if you insist, bring a tray of cannelloni."

Feeling guilty for eavesdropping, she walked into his line of sight. "Talking to your grandpa?"

"Yes. He heard that several students' family's had been attacked. He called to see if he could offer any a.s.sistance. The man thinks everything can be fixed with food."

Thank G.o.d. He wasn't involved in some plot. Just dealing with an overprotective grandfather, which was nice. "Most of the time food helps."

She held the sweatshirt out to him. "Since I cried all over you, I thought you might want to change."

He glanced down at his shirt. "Good idea." He pointed back the way she came. "Bathroom is this way?"

"Yes. Don't be surprised if all the lemon ice is gone by the time you get back."

She picked up the carryout container of lemon ice. It looked like the containers ice cream came in from the store. Curious, she checked the bottom of the container. It read, "Lemon Gelato, New York, NY."

Disappointment settled on her shoulders like a heavy blanket. Which was ridiculous. Did it matter than Valmont's family didn't make the lemon ice from scratch like the rest of their food? She said a small prayer that they did make the rest of their food from scratch. If she rifled through the restaurant storage area and found giant industrial-sized containers of Ragu, she'd be completely disillusioned.

It didn't matter where the lemon ice was made. Valmont brought it to her because he cared, so love went into it even if it didn't come from Fonzoli's kitchen.

When the guy she was thinking about strolled toward her wearing the sweatshirt she'd had on hours before, all doubt vanished from her mind. Valmont was a good guy. It didn't matter where the lemon ice came from or whom he'd been talking to on the phone.

"I expected half of that to be gone by now."

"I could lie and say I was waiting to share, but I was lost in thought." She opened the bag and pulled out a plastic spoon the size of a ladle.

"Is this supposed to be a comment on how much I eat?"

He grinned and took the large spoon from her. "I thought it might make you laugh. There are regular spoons in the bottom of the bag." He grabbed the bag, reached inside, and then frowned. "I threw real spoons in here. Maybe they fell out in my car."

Should she eat with the ladle-sized spoon? If she was by herself, she might. "I could call Rindy, the magical fairy who knows all, and ask her where my grandparents keep their spoons."

"Good idea. From the outside of the house, I know where the kitchen is located. From in here, I haven't a clue."

A quick call to Rindy had Abigail the maid at their door five minutes later with a pushcart loaded with utensils, drinks, and snacks.

"Wow." Bryn looked over the platter of fruit and cheese, the plate of cookies, and the bowl of popcorn. Several types of soda and bottled water also sat on the cart.

"Thanks, Abigail. This is awesome."

She inclined her head. "If you need anything else, you can reach the kitchen by dialing three-six-six-three."

"I better write that down." Bryn stepped away from the door.

"No need to write it down." Abigail grinned like she knew a secret. "It spells food. Your grandfather is a clever man."

"Yes, he is." Bryn watched as Abigail left the room and closed the door behind her. She grabbed two spoons off the cart, tossing one to Valmont. "What would you like to drink?"

He came over to investigate and picked up a bottle labeled lime fizzy water. "The name alone makes me want to try it. How about you?"

Her first instinct was to go for a soda. She checked the other options and picked up a pretty pink bottle. "I'll try the strawberry fizzy water."

They settled back on the couch with the lemon ice set between them. Bryn took a bite. The cold, tangy sweetness melted in her mouth. Thank G.o.d it still tasted as good as she remembered, even though it wasn't made here in town. "How did you end up buying lemon gelato from New York?"

"My grandfather vacationed there once. Said it put his lemon gelato to shame. He's refused to serve anything else ever since."

A knock sounded on her door. Before she could stand and open it, the door opened. Her grandfather stood in the doorway frowning. "What is he doing here?"

Could her grandfather make Valmont feel less welcome? "He's my friend."

"He's staff. You can't be friends with the staff."

And it was on. "He's my friend and my knight, and he's not your staff."

"You don't need a knight," her grandfather said. "No one has a knight anymore. It's archaic. Release him from his bond."

"No." She stared her grandfather down, refusing to blink.

The jerk grinned. "Good to know you fight for what you believe in."

And with that he left.

Bryn stared after him and then turned to Valmont. "What the h.e.l.l was that?"

"I think it was a test, and you pa.s.sed with flying colors."

"It's frightening to think his blood runs in my veins."

"Could be worse. Imagine how Jaxon feels."

Bryn laughed. "Sharing blood with Ferrin. That is a terrible reality."

"Speaking of Jaxon," Valmont said, "why were you having lunch with him the other day?"

Hoping to show him how stupid she thought the whole Jaxon fix-up idea was, she rolled her eyes. "Since my grandparents recognized me, my grandfather wants me to marry and have grandkids and all that c.r.a.p."

Valmont bit his lip like he was trying not to laugh. She glared at him. "I see you've connected the dots."

Laughter poured out of Valmont's mouth. It was a warm, rich sound, and surprisingly enough, it didn't make her angry. In fact, she joined in.

He regained control but still grinned like an idiot. "That is the funniest thing I've ever heard. You and Jaxon, together. I imagine neither Jaxon nor his father are amused by the idea."

"My grandmother and Jaxon's mother, Lillith, are behind it. Ferrin would have me a.s.sa.s.sinated before he allowed me to marry his son. I might prefer that myself."

"Why is your grandmother scheming with Lillith? Shouldn't Jaxon's contract already be in place?"

"It was." And the story wasn't funny anymore. "Rhianna didn't fully recover from her injury after the attack on the theater building, so Ferrin, being the utter a.s.shat that he is, voided their agreement."

"That's awful. What will she do?"

"Jaxon, who has turned out not to be a total a.s.shat, promised he'd take care of her no matter what. Which is admirable, but it shouldn't have to be that way. I don't see why it's an issue."

"Jaxon is more honorable than I thought." Valmont reached for her hand. "When will you know if you've been approved for an arranged marriage?"

"No idea. I try not to think about it. It's all so weird. A few months ago, I was a normal girl living a normal life in a public high school. My biggest worry was who I'd sit next to at lunch. Now it seems like I'm living in a foreign country on the brink of a war. A lot of people hate me. Some of them are trying to kill me. If I live, there's a chance, however slim, that I'll be forced into an arranged marriage, which has nothing to do with actually loving or even liking the person. My grandmother told me marriage is a legal contract that produces children. Nothing more. I can't believe that. My parents are happy, I can't-"

Oh, G.o.d. Doubling over, she breathed through the pain in her chest. Her parents were dead. She didn't have any more tears.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. She sat up and met Valmont's gaze.

He reached over and pulled her close so she could lay her head on his chest. "You forgot for a moment." He wasn't asking a question. He just knew. Which was nice. It made things easier.

"When will I stop forgetting?" she asked. "Because it hurts...a lot."

"I'm not sure."

Leaning against his solid chest, she felt warm and safe. He stroked his hand up and down her back.

What little energy she had left drained out of her body. "Do you mind if I close my eyes for a little bit?"

"No. Go ahead."

"Thank you."

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. .h.i.tting 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-a.s.s 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 inst.i.tute? 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 pa.s.s 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 pa.s.sing 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."