Fourth Wing (The Empyrean, #1)

by Rebecca Yarros

The following text has been faithfully transcribed from Navarrian into the modern language by Jesinia Neilwart, Curator of the Scribe Quadrant at Basgiath War College. All events are true, and names have been preserved to honor the courage of those fallen. May their souls be commended to Malek.

A dragon without its rider is a tragedy. A rider without their dragon is dead.

She picks up the end of my long braid, scoffs at the section just above my shoulders where the brown strands start to lose their warmth of color and slowly fade to a steely, metallic silver by the ends, and then drops it.

It’s not the first time I’ve heard her curse the sickness that nearly killed her while she was pregnant with me

Venin??????

“Spoken like the daughter of a scribe,” Mom says quietly, and I see it—the woman she was while Dad was alive. Softer. Kinder…at least for her family. “I am the daughter of a scribe.”

Violet deals with more pain before lunch than you do in an entire week. If any of my children is capable of surviving the Riders Quadrant, it’s her.”

Are you going to die a scribe? Or live as a rider?”

“What is this?” I test the material just above my heart, scratching it with my fingernail. “Something I designed,” she explains, tugging my braid painfully tight against my scalp. “I had it specially made for you with Teine’s scales sewn in, so be careful with it.” “Dragon scales?”

“I’m not going to die today.”

“Find Dain Aetos,”

See that shimmering mark that starts on the top of his wrist? It’s a relic from the rebellion.”

“Stay the hell away from Xaden Riorson.” The air rushes from my lungs. That name… “That Xaden Riorson,” she confirms, fear lacing her gaze. “He’s a third-year, and he will kill you the second he finds out who you are.” “His father was the Great Betrayer. He led the rebellion,” I say quietly. “What is Xaden doing here?” “All the children of the leaders were conscripted as punishment for their parents’ crimes,”

“I’m Rhiannon Matthias, by the way.” “Dylan,” the blond guy responds with an enthusiastic wave.

“She said it would be bad luck to propose before I left, so we’re waiting until graduation.” He kisses the ring and tucks the chain back under his collar. “The next three years are going to be long ones, but they’ll be worth it.”

He’s tall, with windblown black hair and dark brows. The line of his jaw is strong and covered by warm tawny skin and dark stubble, and when he folds his arms across his torso, the muscles in his chest and arms ripple, moving in a way that makes me swallow. And his eyes… His eyes are the shade of gold-flecked onyx. The contrast is startling, jaw-dropping even—everything about him is. His features are so harsh that they look carved, and yet they’re astonishingly perfect, like an artist worked a lifetime sculpting him, and at least a year of that was spent on his mouth. He’s the most exquisite man I’ve ever seen.

Even the diagonal scar that bisects his left eyebrow and marks the top corner of his cheek only makes him hotter.

he loses his grip on the water-slick stone and falls, disappearing from view. The wind and rain steal any sound his body might make in the valley below. They steal the sound of my muffled cry, too.

I will not die today.

“Name?” the rider asks again, but I know he’s not talking to me. “Jack Barlowe,” the one behind me answers. “Remember the name. I’m going to be a wingleader one day.” Even his voice reeks of arrogance.

Your mind already knows the answer, so just calm down and let it remember.

Jack grabs the gangly boy by the straps of his overpacked rucksack, and I watch, shock locking my muscles, as Jack throws the scrawny candidate from the parapet like a sack of grain. A scream reaches my ears for an instant before fading as he falls out of sight. Holy shit. “You’re next, Sorrengail!” Jack bellows, and I jerk my gaze from the ravine to see him pointing at me, a sinister smile curving his mouth. Then he comes for me, his strides eating up the distance between us with horrifying speed. Move. Now.

I will not die today.

Jack either thinks I’m that link or he’s an unstable asshole who just enjoys killing.

“Cadet Sorrengail has you by the actual balls here, in more ways than one. She’s right. Regs state that there’s nothing but respect among riders at formation. You want to kill her, you’ll have to do it in the sparring ring or on your own time. That is, if she decides to let you off the parapet. Because technically, you’re not on the grounds yet, so you are not a cadet. She is.”

“You’re dead, Sorrengail, and I’m going to be the one to kill you.”

If Jack wants to kill me, he needs to get in line. Besides, I have a feeling Xaden Riorson is going to beat him to it.

“I’m Dain Aetos, and I’m the leader for Second Squad, Flame Section, Second Wing.”

In the Riders Quadrant, you either graduate or die, and you know that. Let me save you.” His entire posture droops, and the plea in his eyes shreds some of my indignation. “Please let me save you.”

“Sections and squads,” I whisper to Rhiannon, in case she didn’t grow up in a military family. “Three squads in each section and three sections in each of the four wings.”

A dragon without its rider is a tragedy. A rider without their dragon is dead.

I will not die today.

Do you feel invincible now that you’ve made it into the Riders Quadrant? Untouchable? Elite?”

“Because you’re not untouchable or special to them.” Xaden points toward the navy dragon and leans forward slightly, like he’s letting us in on a secret as we lock eyes. “To them, you’re just the prey.”

The tall, wiry cadet whose light complexion is covered with a smattering of freckles answers with a tight nod. His freckled jaw ticks, and my chest pangs with sympathy. He’s one of the repeats—a cadet who didn’t bond during Threshing and now has to start the entire year over.

His name is Ridoc,

Dain steps forward and cups my face,

“I can read a person’s recent memories,” Dain admits quietly. “Not like an inntinnsic reads minds or anything—I have to put my hands on the person, so I’m not a security risk. But my signet’s not common knowledge.

“I’m still learning, and of course I’m better at it the closer I am to Cath, but yeah. I just put my hands on someone’s temples, and I can see what they saw.

“The book of Brennan,”

Here’s the secret—if you know where to look and can get out without being seen, you’ll know who you’re fighting so you can prepare.

I know how to survive.

I don’t want to find a single thing about Xaden Riorson admirable, and yet here he is, being all annoyingly admirable. Asshole.

Liam Mairi. He’s in Second Squad, Tail Section of our wing and already the top cadet in our year. He practically ran across the parapet and destroyed every opponent on assessment day.

“In war, people die. It’s not glorious like the bards sing about, either. It’s snapped necks and two-hundred-foot falls. There’s nothing romantic about scorched earth or the scent of sulfur. This”—he gestures back toward the citadel—“isn’t some fable where everyone makes it out alive. It’s hard, cold, uncaring reality. Not everyone here is going to make it home…to whatever’s left of our homes. And make no mistake, we are at war every time we step foot in the quadrant.” He leans forward slightly. “So if you won’t get your shit together and fight to live, then no. You’re not going to make it.”

“I told you already, the youngest Sorrengail is mine, and I’ll handle her when the time is right.”

“That stance is really the best defense you can muster? No wonder Imogen nearly ripped your arm off.” “I’m more dangerous than you think,” I flat-out bluster. “So I see. I’m quaking in my boots.” The corner of his mouth rises into a mocking smirk. Fucking. Asshole. I flip the daggers in my hand, pinching them at the tips, then flick my wrists and fire them past his head, one on each side. They land solidly in the trunk of the tree behind him.

“You missed.” He doesn’t even flinch. “Did I?” I reach for my last two blades. “Why don’t you back up a couple of steps and test that theory?” Curiosity flares in his eyes, but it’s gone in the next second, masked by cold, mocking indifference. Every one of my senses is on high alert, but the shadows around me don’t slide in as he moves backward, his eyes locked with mine. His back hits the tree, and the hilts of my daggers brush his ears. “Tell me again that I missed,” I threaten, taking the dagger in my right hand by the tip. “Fascinating. You look all frail and breakable, but you’re really a violent little thing, aren’t you?”

“Tell me again that I missed,” I threaten, taking the dagger in my right hand by the tip. “Fascinating. You look all frail and breakable, but you’re r...

“We’ll see if you keep your word, and if you do, then unfortunately, it looks like I owe you a favor.”

Dain asks, lifting a hand to cradle my face.