Fourth Wing (The Empyrean, #1)

by Rebecca Yarros

“Heaton, what about you?” I ask. “I can breathe underwater,” they answer.

Love the modern pronouns

Emery?” “I can control wind.” He grins. “A lot of wind.”

“Quinn?” “I can astral project. Keep my body in one place and then walk around somewhere else.”

“We’re going to break into my mother’s office.”

“Scribes freak me out. Quiet little know-it-alls, acting like they can make or break someone by writing something down.”

Didn't Her dad say it was the scribes that had the power

grin. There’s more truth to that statement than most people realize.

Foreshadowing

“Everyone, remember the plan,” I whisper. “No one deviates. No one.”

No one deviates... Foreshadowing

Anxiety spikes, and my power rises in response, the relic in my back heating to an uncomfortable burn. It’s always there lately, simmering beneath my skin, reminding me that performing lesser magics isn’t going to be enough to vent it if I don’t manifest a signet soon.

Why

Nadine’s signet is the ability to unweave wards,

“Which leaves me and the desk,” I mutter, walking around the intimidating piece of furniture and praying I don’t trigger any wards she’s set. There are three folded missives in the middle, and I pick up the first, revealing a sharp dagger with an alloy-infused hilt and what looks to be a Tyrrish rune in the handle that she must be using as a letter opener or something.

General Sorrengail, The raids around Athebyne have spread the wing too thin. Being posted beyond the safety of the wards comes with considerable hazards, and though I am loath to request reinforcements, I must. If we do not reinforce the post, we may be forced to abandon it. We are protecting Navarrian citizens with life, limb, and wing, but I cannot adequately relay how dire the situation is here. I know you receive the dailies from our scribe attachment, but I would be remiss in my duties as executive officer of the Southern Wing if I did not write to you personally. Please find us reinforcements. Sincerely, Major Kallista Neema

General Sorrengail, Protests regarding conscription laws are growing within the province of Tyrrendor. Knowing that due to Tyrrendor’s size, it provides the majority of our conscripts to replenish our front lines, we cannot afford to lose the support of the people again. Perhaps an influx of defensive spending on outposts here would not only bolster the province’s economy and remind the Tyrrish how needed they are to the defense of our kingdom, but also ease the unrest. Please consider this solution as an alternative to suppressing the unrest with force. Sincerely, Lieutenant Colonel Alyssa Travonte

Unrest isn’t new to Tyrrendor, nor is the sentiment against conscription, but we certainly haven’t heard any political rumblings in Battle Brief. Other than to quell discontent, it would make no sense to increase defensive spending there, especially since it holds our fewest number of outposts due to the natural barrier provided by the Cliffs of Dralor, which are unscalable by gryphons.

Tyrrendor

should already be one of the safest provinces on the Continent. Well, except Aretia. Where that capital should be, there is only a scorch mark, as though the bur...

personal habits and flaws of all active dragons.

Flaws what flaws

There is no stronger bond than that between two mated dragons. It goes beyond the depth of human love or adoration to a primal, undeniable requirement for proximity. One cannot survive without the other. —Colonel Kaori’s Field Guide to Dragonkind

flying for six hours straight

MONTERSATE IS 6 Hours away from BWC

Then we’ll show you around Montserrat.”

Do you guys get all the information?” “Only what we need. Like, I could have sworn I saw a riot of dragons across the border during this attack.” She shrugs. “But questions about secret operations are above my pay grade.

Foreshadowing

“You mean the book I snagged just in case Mom got a wild hair and decided to clean out your things while you were in the quadrant?” Her smile morphs into a grin. “I have it at Montserrat. Figured you’d be pissed if you graduated and it was gone. I mean, whatever would you do if you forgot a minute detail of how the gallant riders took out the army of wyvern and the venin who sucked the land dry of magic?” I blink. “Shit. I can’t remember. But I guess I’ll be able to read it again soon!” A bubble of joy rises in my chest. “You are the best.”

Interestking

“I know they’re just stories, but I never used to get why the villains would choose to corrupt their souls and become venin, and now…” Her brow furrows. “Now you empathize with the villain?” I tease. “No.” She shakes her head. “But we have the kind of power people would kill for, Violet. Dragons and gryphons are the gatekeepers, and I’m sure that to someone jealous enough, ambitious enough, risking a soul would be a fair price for the ability to wield.” Her shoulders rise as she shrugs. “Just makes me glad our dragons are so discerning and our wards keep the gryphon riders at bay.

Foreshadowing

“Have you been stationed with any riders of mated pairs?” I ask Mira as I close the door behind us. “One,” she answers, her eyes narrowing on the darkened path in front of the house. “Why?” “I’m just wondering how long they can be separated.” “Turns out, about three days is their max.” Xaden steps out of the shadows.

For valor above and beyond the call of duty in the battle of Strythmore, where her bravery resulted not only in the destruction of a battery behind enemy lines but also saved the lives of an entire company of infantry, I recommend Mira Sorrengail receive the Star of Navarre. But if the criterion is not met, which I assure you it has been, downgrading to the Order of the Talon would be a shame, but sufficient. —Recommendation for Award from Major Potsdam to General Sorrengail

WtF

“Everything you’re taught at Basgiath is theory. You analyze past attacks and learn those very…theoretical combat maneuvers. But things out here don’t always go according to plan. So why don’t we talk about all the ways things can go sideways, so you’ll know what to do when they do, as opposed to arguing that the keep shouldn’t have fallen?”

Forforeshadowing

It’s hard to remember sometimes that the third-years are the first riders who will serve with the children of the leaders of the Tyrrish uprising—an uprising that could have left our borders eventually defenseless and the innocent people of Navarre war casualties. Everyone in this room has become accustomed to Liam, Imogen…even Xaden. But those in active service have never flown with anyone marked by a rebellion relic.

So Xanden and the thrid years are the oldest marked ones thus none of the graduated riders have worked wiyh them

“You haven’t even seen me start to be a dick.” My head turns so fast that it swims, and my mouth drops open as

stare at the side of Xaden’s face. That was his voice…in my fucking head.

“Three days?” Dain fires back, leaning in. “You couldn’t make it three days?” “It has nothing to do with him,” I interrupt, setting my dragon down with a little more force than necessary. “That’s up to Tairn and Sgaeyl.” “You never considered that it was you I couldn’t stay away from?” I crook my right arm and jab it into Xaden’s biceps. He doesn’t mean that. Not when he’s still adamant that kissing me was a mistake. And if he does… I’m not going there. “Now, now, you’ll give our little communication secret away if you can’t keep from being so…violent.” He

What had Sgaeyl said about signets? It reflects who you are at the core of your being. It makes sense. Mira is protective. Dain has to know everything. And Xaden…has secrets.

Sooo true

“Mira,” I whisper, shaking my head. “You’re wrong about him.” “Listen to me.” She grasps my shoulders. “He might wield shadows,

Violet, but give him his way, and you’ll become one.”

“Killing someone isn’t the only way to destroy them. Keeping you from reaching your potential seems like a great path to the retribution he swore against our mother. Think long and hard. How well do you even really know him?”

takes mere minutes to grab my pack and Rhiannon’s, since we’ve left them intact, even cramming in our cloaks. Then I’m back in the hallway where Xaden waits, his own pack slung over his shoulder. It looks considerably smaller than the one he arrived with, and I don’t want to even think about what he’s left behind in order to force me out faster.

Did X bring supplies to the Gryphon riders

Winning the War Games isn’t about strength. It’s about cunning. To know how to strike, you have to understand where your enemies—your friends—are most vulnerable. No one stays friends forever, Mira. Eventually those closest to us become our enemies in some way, even if it’s through well-intentioned love or apathy, or if we live long enough to become their villains. —Page eighty, the Book of Brennan

Talk about foreshadowing

“I don’t even know how old you are now.” Mira was right. I know almost nothing about him. And yet…I feel like I know who he is in the very marrow of his bones. Could my emotions be any more scattered when it comes to him? “Twenty-three,” he answers. “My birthday was in March.” And I didn’t even know. “Mine is in—” “July,” he answers with a ghost of a smile. “I know. I made it my business to know everything there was to know about you the second I saw you on the parapet.”

“Because that’s not creepy.” I let the coffee warm my freezing hands. “Can’t know how to ruin someone without understanding them first,” he says quietly. I lift my gaze to find that his is already on me. “And is that still your plan?” Mira’s words have haunted me for two days. He flinches. “No.” “What changed?” Frustration tightens my grip on the mug. “When exactly did you decide not to ruin me?” “Maybe it was when I saw Oren holding a knife to your throat,” he says. “Or maybe it was when I realized the bruises on your neck were fingerprints and wanted to kill them all over again just so I could do it slowly. Maybe it was the first time I recklessly kissed you or when I realized I’m fucked because I can’t stop thinking about doing more than just kissing you.” My breath catches at his admission, but he just sighs, lets his head fall back against the wall. “Does it even matter when, as long as it changed between us?” “Don’t do that,” I whisper, and he lifts his head again to hold my gaze. “Don’t do what? Tell you I can’t get you out of my head? Or speak directly into yours?”

“Either.” “You could learn to do it, too.” Why the hell is it so impossible to look away from him? To remember that kiss on that tower had been a game to him, that this all might be a game to him? To quell this impossible ache that swirls in my stomach every time I think about him? “Come on, give it a try.” As I stare into his gold-flecked eyes, I decide he’s right. I could at least meet him halfway and try. I put one mental foot in my Archives and feel power ripple through my veins. Bright orange, crackling energy streams in from the door behind me, and there’s a golden light that shines from the window...

need to level this playing field. “No.” He pauses in surprise. “Why?”

what those silver scars on your back are from.” I hold my breath, waiting for the answer, waiting for him to say anything that might let me in. Even from twenty feet away, I can see him tense. “Why do you want to know?” My grip tightens on the pommel scales. I instinctively knew the scars were private, but his reaction says there’s more to them than just a painful memory. “Why don’t you want to tell me?” Sgaeyl startles, then launches into the air, leaving Tairn and me behind. “Are you pushing for a reason?” Tairn asks. “Can you give me one not to?” “He cares for you. That’s already hard enough for him.” I scoff. “He cares about keeping me alive. There’s a difference.” “Not for him there isn’t.”

Enemies to lovers

The afternoon skies above Basgiath are crystal clear in the middle of May for the first battle of the War Games that signify the approach of graduation. As much as I want to feel excitement that I’m so close to actually surviving my first year in the Riders Quadrant, my stomach is tight with anxiety. Battle Briefs are getting more redacted. Professor Carr is getting more anxious that I haven’t manifested a signet like almost the entire first-year cadets. Dain is acting weird as fuck—friendly one minute and indifferent the next. Xaden is getting more secretive—if that were even possible—canceling some of our training for unexplained reasons. Even Tairn feels like there’s something he’s not telling me.

Anything goes out there during War Games, and Jack Barlowe hasn’t forgotten that I put him in the infirmary for four days.

“When did I ever give you the impression that I give a fuck what people think about me?” A corner of his mouth rises, and now it’s all I can concentrate on, damn him. “I only care what they think about you.” Because he’s a wingleader.

“The leather is a hazard on my chest if we take a fire attack, since your saddle would slide right off. But if you take a direct blast up there, sitting on a piece of metal isn’t going to save you.” I don’t bother pointing out that the only fire we’d be taking is from other dragons, which is a problem that doesn’t exist,

Foreshadowing

No. My throat closes. I refuse to lose him. Not when he’s dedicated so many months of his life to keeping me alive. Failing isn’t an option. It’s just…not. “Andarna?” I cry, already throwing open the window in my mind to where her glittering gift lies in wait. “Do it,” she answers. “Focus on everything except you and Tairn!”

Foreshadowing or throw us off

Wrath and fury boil my blood as my eyes lock onto the figure on top of that tower. This is the last time this asshole will come after my friends or me.

He’s alive—he has to be. It’s the only outcome I’ll accept.

Tairn charges the tower, his wings beating faster and faster, and I instinctually throw my hands forward, as though I can project all this power lashing within me toward the enemy who just tried to kill my friend, who has done his best to kill me at every opportunity.

am the sky and the power of every storm that has ever been. I am infinite. A scream rips from my throat just as lightning splits the sky with a terrifying crack of thunder.

bluish streak of silver death slams into the tower, and sparks flare as it explodes in