“The Hitler of dragons,” Bryn said. “I guess humans don’t have the market cornered on racist egomaniacal hate-spewing dictators.”
“Unfortunately,” Miss Enid said, “they do not.”
Maybe that was another reason the Directorate screened bloodlines with such care. She couldn’t ask Miss Enid about that because her marriage contract had been denied due to something they’d found when they combined her blood with Mr. Stanton’s. And the Directorate, being the all-powerful council that they were, didn’t give an explanation why. But there was something else Bryn could ask.
“Could I talk to you in private for a moment?” Bryn asked Miss Enid.
“Of course.” She scribbled something on a Post-it note and passed it to Clint. “This is where you’ll find more information on the Silvers. Make certain that anyone you speak to knows that you believe the group was a bunch of radical terrorists. If it sounds like you admire them in any way, someone will probably drag you away for questioning.”
“Understood,” Ivy said. She and Clint headed toward the back stairs.
“What did you want to speak with me about?” Miss Enid asked.
There was no way to bring this up without it being awkward. “I know that couples have been denied marriage due to the possible issues in their bloodlines, but I was wondering if one of those couples who never married…if they were past the age of having children, would they be allowed to marry if they still wanted to?”
Miss Enid opened her mouth and then closed it. “I…I have no idea. No one has ever even mentioned…I’m not sure…have you spoken to anyone else about this?”
“No. It’s just a question that popped into my head. Jaxon and I spoke of it, but he would never mention it to anyone else.”
Was Miss Enid angry or confused? It was hard to tell. “I’m sorry if this was rude. It’s just with all the talk of marriage and hybrids and—”
Miss Enid placed a hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay. No one who grew up in our culture would ever ask such a question. They wouldn’t even think it.”
Since Miss Enid wasn’t angry, Bryn asked the next logical question. “Is getting married something you’d be interested in?”
“I can’t even answer that right now, but you’ve given me something to mull over.”
Chapter Eight
Bryn joined Clint and Ivy on the third floor where they sat at a library table, flipping through what looked like newspaper articles bound together in giant black leather books.
“Find anything interesting?” Bryn asked.
“Disturbing as hell,” Clint said, “but interesting.”
“Apparently the Hitler of this group, who was named Eric, had been extremely charming. He convinced students and adults to be donors for the dragons who were trying to evolve. He promised those who gave Quintessence would then be allowed to evolve once they recruited more donors.”
“A Quintessence-sucking pyramid scheme?” Bryn said. “Are you kidding me?”
“Nope,” Ivy said. “This Eric guy promised power and wealth and a crazy amount of dragons joined him.”
“I still don’t get it. How does anyone agree to let someone suck their life force for money and power?” Bryn asked.
“Medics use their life force. They willingly give it away to heal other dragons,” Clint said.
“That’s completely different,” Bryn said. “As a Medic you heal, and do good, and then go chow down on a dozen chocolate bars or cookies. You don’t do it for personal gain…unless you count gratitude and some respect.”
“True,” Ivy said. “Medics do what they do to help others. Silvers only wanted to help themselves.”
“But both trade in Quintessence,” Clint said. “I’m just saying.”
“You’re just being annoying,” Bryn said.
Clint puffed his chest out with pride. “It’s my special skill set.”
Bryn rolled her eyes. “Perhaps you should aspire to something else.”
“But it’s so much fun to piss people off,” Clint said with a good-natured grin. “Seriously though, I know that Medics and these Cult whack jobs are miles apart, but if Eric was trying to convince someone that it wasn’t a big deal, he could use an argument like that and some people might fall for it.”
“And people believe strange things all the time,” Bryn said. “Like decaf coffee deserves to exist when it’s just useless brown water.”
“Speaking of useless things,” Ivy said. “What are we doing for the Homecoming Gala this weekend?”
Bryn laughed. “I thought you liked excuses to dress up.”
“Dances and Galas are not the same. And while my enthusiasm for dances has decreased slightly since every dance we’ve had at this school has ended in some crap-tastic life-altering disaster, they are still better than Galas.”
“Remind me what a Gala is,” Clint said.
“Like Ivy said, we dress up and we stand around in awkward groups, pretending that we’re having a marvelous time while we have uncomfortable conversations with people we normally wouldn’t talk to. And as an added bonus, I’ll be attending with Jaxon and, since you’re my friends, you’ll be hanging out with us, sharing the joy of Blue small talk.”
“Maybe we should rethink this whole friendship thing,” Clint teased.
…
Saturday afternoon, Bryn and Ivy hung out in her room trying on different outfits.
“I can’t believe your grandmother had one of the boutiques ship these dresses to your room.” Ivy stood in front of the mirror, modeling a black silk dress that fit her like a glove on top and flared out at the bottom. “And I can’t believe she included some for me. This dress is amazing.” She twirled, and the dress spun out into a full circle.
“I used to think Blues hoarded their money, but my grandmother is generous. So is Lillith.” Bryn checked her reflection. It was strange, but when she’d dated Valmont she’d picked out dresses she hoped he would think made her look good. She never tried to look special for Jaxon…because he’d always be prettier than her…which sort of sucked. Now she just tried to find dresses that looked appropriate for the occasion and gave her a boost of confidence. The navy spaghetti-strap dress she currently had on wasn’t doing the trick.
“I am not feeling this dress,” Bryn said.
Ivy pointed at a pale-green dress. “Try that one. I think it will look great with your skin tone.”
“Most dresses don’t scream this-should-be-worn-with-pale-freckled skin.” Bryn tried the dress on. It had a wide boat neck and was made of some ethereal floating fabric that skimmed over her curves without looking clingy. She turned in front of the mirror. Since the dress wasn’t full it didn’t flare out like Ivy’s had, but it still made her feel good. “I think we have a winner.”
“Time for hair and makeup,” Ivy said. “And since this is an early evening Gala rather than a late evening dance, I will skip the theatrical makeup.”
“Good, because I don’t want to listen to Jaxon gripe about my level of taste.”
“Is it just me, or has he backslid into being more of an asshat than he used to be?” Ivy asked.
“It’s not just you.” Bryn sat on the edge of the bed while Ivy grabbed her makeup kit. “And I keep telling myself that he’s suffered a terrible loss and I need to cut him some slack, but there are times when I want to roast him.”
“Totally understandable,” Ivy said. “I love Clint and there are days that I want to zap him. You’re forced to spend time with Jaxon and you two aren’t even really in a relationship…at least not the traditional sort.”
“You make it sound like we’re involved in some strange affair.” Bryn closed her eyes as Ivy applied sea-foam green eye shadow.
“How would you describe your situation with Jaxon?” Ivy asked.
“It’s like we’re teammates who tolerate each other. Occasionally, it seems like we’re friends.” Bryn felt a lump rise in her throat. “There are days where I can’t believe I’m going to have to marry him. I keep hoping something will change, but I’m pretty sure it won’t, and if I think about it too much I have to breathe into a paper bag so I don’t hyper-ventilate in desperation.”