Fourth Wing (The Empyrean, #1)

by Rebecca Yarros

“I believe you. That doesn’t mean I trust you anymore.” “Keep it.”

means Dad didn’t just give me a rare book…but a forbidden one. Four hundred years of tomes and not a single one— Four hundred years. But our history spans over six. Everything is a copy of an earlier work. The only original text in the Archives older than four hundred years—around the time we fell into war with Poromiel—are the original scrolls from the Unification over six hundred years ago.

It only takes one desperate generation to change history—even erase it.

“One generation to change the text. One generation chooses to teach that text. The next grows, and the lie becomes history.”

The very empty outpost. “What the hell?” Garrick strides across the courtyard in the center of the structure, looking along the gathering spaces that should line the interior just like Montserrat.

It's a trap

“There’s no one here. Divide and search.” He glances at me. “You don’t leave my side. I don’t think this is a War Game.”

Everything feels off.

“This is one of the most strategic garrisons we man,” I say, looking for any sight of the infantry and riders who should be here. “There’s no way they’d abandon it for War Games.” “That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.”

Liam moves forward, leaning on the stone battlement as he focuses on the structures in the distance beneath us. The trading post is maybe a twenty-minute walk along the wide gravelly path winding down the mountainside our outpost is perched on. The roofs of several buildings just poke out above the circular stone wall of its defenses, a drift of gryphons and their fliers approaching from the south.

“What did Dain say to you before we left? He leaned in and whispered something.” I blink, trying to remember. “He said something like…” I search my memory. “I’ll miss you, Violet.” His body goes tense. “And he said I was going to get you killed.” “Yes, but he always says that.” I shrug. “What would Dain have to do with emptying an entire outpost?” “I have something!” Garrick calls from the southeast tower, holding what looks to be an envelope as he and Imogen cross the thick rampart, coming in our direction. “Did you tell him about my trips here?” Xaden questions, his eyes hardening. “No!” I shake my head. “Unlike some people, I never hid anything from you.”

“Violence,” he says softly, “did Aetos touch you after I told you about Athebyne?”

“Like this.” He lifts his hand to my cheek. “His power requires touching someone’s face. Did he touch you like this?” My lips part. “Yes, but that’s how he always touches me. He would n-never…” I sputter. “I would know if he read my memories.”

“No, Violence. Trust me, you wouldn’t.”

War Games for Xaden Riorson, Wingleader of Fourth Wing. I recognize the handwriting—how could I not when I’ve seen it all my life? “That’s from Colonel Aetos.”

“It says our mission is to survive if we can.”

“We’ve been sent here to die.”

For there, in the land beyond the shadows, were monsters that dwelled in the night and dined on the souls of children who wandered too close to the woods. —“The Wyvern’s Cry,” The Fables of the Barren

“Something is off,” Tairn says. “I felt it at the lake, but it’s stronger here.” “Can you pinpoint what it is?”

If Dain’s dad knows Xaden and the others have been supplying weapons to the gryphon fliers, there’s every chance this is an execution.

“It’s coming from the val...

“The letter says this is a test of your command,” the section leader reads behind us. “You have the choice of abandoning the village of our enemy or abandoning command of your wing.”

“They’re testing our loyalty without actually saying it.” Xaden folds his arms over his chest, standing at my side. “According to the missive, if we leave now, we’ll make it to the new location of headquarters for Fourth Wing at Eltuval in time to carry out our orders for War Games, but if we leave, the trading post of Resson and its occupants will be destroyed.”

“By what?” Imogen asks. “Venin,” Liam responds. My stomach drops. “You’re positive?” Xaden asks.

Liam nods. “As sure as I can be without having actually seen them before. Four of them. Purple robes. Distended red veins spidering all a...

“Because magic corrupts their blood as they lose their souls,” I murmur,

“Nature likes everything in balance.”

He can abandon that village or his command, who’s now waiting for him at Eltuval. “This isn’t a fucking training exercise, Bodhi. Some—if not all—of us are going to die if we go down there. If we’d been assigned to an active wing, there would be far older, more experienced leadership making this decision, but there aren’t. If we weren’t marked with rebellion relics, if we hadn’t been aiding the enemy”—his gaze darts to mine briefly—“we wouldn’t even be here with this choice. So, all command structure aside, what are your thoughts?”

“They’re after something, and they’re going to kill every single person in Resson to get it. Take your riot and go home while you can.”

Dragon fire won’t kill them. Only the daggers you’ve been bringing, and we have those.” She looks at Xaden. “Thank you for everything you’ve done. You’ve kept us alive these last couple of years and given us a fighting chance.”

We can live as cowards or die as riders.

“Sgaeyl says she has never run from a fight, and today will not be the first. And I’m not going to stand by while innocent people are dying, either.” He shakes his head. “But I’m not going to order any of you to join me. I’m responsible for all of you. None of you crossed that parapet

because you wanted to. None of you. You crossed it because I made a deal.

“If the others get to make a choice, then so do I.” His jaw flexes. “We’re riders,” Imogen says as another explosion sounds. “We defend the defenseless. That’s what we do.” “You saved every single one of us here, cousin,” Bodhi says. “And we’re thankful. Now, I’d like to do what we’ve trained for, and if it means I don’t go home, then I guess my soul will be commended to Malek. I wouldn’t mind seeing my mother anyway.”

Garrick says. “You kept us alive all these years; we get to decide how we die. I’m with you.”

Liam steps forward so he stands at my side. “We watched as our parents were executed because they had the courage to do the right thing. I’d like to think my death would be just as honorable.”

My chest tightens. Their parents died to expose the truth while mine sacrificed my brother to keep this heinous secret.

I will not leave innocent people to die, no matter what side of the border they live on. I will not let my squadmates risk their lives while I run, despite the plea I see in Xaden’s eyes.

And as for Mom… The dagger on her desk means she knows and has done nothing to stop it. Guess I’ll be the second child she sacrifices to keep the existence of venin a secret.

“The only way to take them out is by dagger.”

“I knew you’d make the right choice,” Sgaeyl says, glancing toward where Xaden approaches with Liam, their footsteps dangerously close to the cliffside at my left. “He did, too. Even if he doesn’t like you putting yourself in danger, he knew you would.” “Well, he knows me a great deal better than I

know him.”

“You’re a far cry from the trembling girl who stood in the courtyard and tried to mask her fear after Parapet. I approve.” “...

“Wyvern.” My heart launches into my throat. “Xaden, it has two legs, not four. It’s not a dragon. It’s a wyvern.”

“They have created abominations,” Tairn says, a low growl rumbling in his chest.

“Did you know?” “I suspected. Why do you think I’ve been so hard on you during flight maneuvers?” “You and I are going to have to work on our communication skills.”

General Melgren will know what’s happened here. He’ll be able to see the outcome of the battle even now.”

He shakes his head slowly and points to his neck, to the rebellion relic snaking around his throat. “Do you remember how I told you I realized it was a gift, not a curse?” “Yes.” Back when I was in his bed. “Just trust me—because of this, Melgren can’t see a fucking thing.”

“There’s something in that trading post. We all feel it,” Tairn says

There’s a figure standing at the top of a wooden clock tower, wearing purple floor-length robes that billow in the wind while he hurls blue flames like daggers at the civilians below.

rivers of red veins fanning in every direction around soulless eyes consumed by magic. His face is gaunt, with sharp cheekbones and thin lips, a gnarled hand gripping a long red cane made of some misshapen wood.