Fourth Wing (The Empyrean, #1)

by Rebecca Yarros

Xaden is leaning against the tree, his arms folded across his chest, and behind him, watching with narrowed golden eyes, her fangs exposed, is Sgaeyl, his terrifying navy-blue daggertail.

Raw Next Question

In the six centuries of recorded history of dragon and rider, there have been hundreds of known cases where a dragon simply cannot emotionally recover from the loss of their bonded rider. This happens when the bond is particularly strong and, in three documented cases, has even caused the untimely death of the dragon.

Xaden looks toward me, and I swear I can see his jaw clench, even from this far away.

Hope is a fickle, dangerous thing. It steals your focus and aims it toward the possibilities instead of keeping it where it belongs—on the probabilities. Xaden’s words come back to me with alarming clarity, and I rip my gaze from his and concentrate on the three probabilities in front of me.

Is she in his head

“Behind you!” Xaden shouts.

Watching this is killijng him

Yeah, Sgaeyl looks pissed. Her head undulates in a serpentine motion—a clear sign of agitation—and those narrowed golden eyes of hers are focused on Tynan,

It’s Xaden. And rules be damned, he steps forward as though he intends to stop Tynan from killing me.

Standing with the golden one tucked under an enormous, scarred black wing is the biggest dragon I’ve ever seen in my life—the unbonded black dragon Professor Kaori showed us in class. I don’t even come close to reaching its ankle.

“Step aside, Silver One,” a deep, gruff, definitely male voice orders. I blink. Wait. What? Did he just speak to me? “Yes. You. Move.”

“You’re bleeding. Stop it.”

“Get on my back.”

“One does not live a century without being well aware of the space one takes up. Now get on.”

The golden one bends down, flexing its legs, and then launches into the sky, its golden wings catching the sun as it flies off, skimming the tops of the trees. So it can fly. That would have been nice to know twenty minutes ago.

“You are a rider, are you not?” “That seems up for debate at the moment.”

A low, frustrated grumble sounds in his chest, and then he shocks me to the core as he stretches forward, his front leg becoming a ramp. Dragons never supplicate for anyone, and yet here he is, bowing to make it easier for me to climb on. It’s steep but manageable.

Tairn bows to help her up

“My name is Tairneanach, son of Murtcuideam and Fiaclanfuil, descended from the cunning Dubhmadinn line.”

“But I’m not going to assume that you’ll be able to remember that

once we reach the field, so Tairn will do until I inevitably have to remind you.”

“You’re making us look bad. Stop it.”

“I know exactly who and what you are, Violet Sorrengail.”

My legs shake until they lock, the muscles freezing in place as though bands have been wrapped around them, but there’s no pain. I glance over my shoulder and see his morningstar tail, what feels like miles behind us. He’s doing this. He’s holding me in place.

“You will not fall. I will not allow it.” The bands around my legs extend to my hands, and I feel the pulse of invisible energy. “You will trust me.”

“Why did you choose me?” I have to know, because as soon as we land, there are going to be questions. “Because you saved her.”

“You are the smartest of your year. The most cunning.” I gulp at the compliment, brushing it off. I was trained as a scribe, not a rider. “You defended the smallest with ferocity. And strength of courage is more important than physical strength. Since you apparently need to know before we land.”

“Maybe I was saving you.” Her voice is higher, sweeter in my mind.

“Andarnaurram.” The sweet, high voice of the golden fills my mind. “Andarna for short.”

“It’s up to the Empyrean to decide,” Tairn says, but there’s an edge of tension in his tone. “Don’t leave the field. This might take a while.” “What might—” My question

“Codagh,” Tairn answers. General Melgren’s dragon. I make out the patchy holes in his battle-scarred wings as he comes closer, his golden gaze focused on Tairn in a way that makes me nauseous. He growls, low in his throat, turning those sinister eyes on me.

“The Green Daggertail!” Rhiannon grins. “Feirge. And it was just…easy.”

“Aotrom,” Ridoc says with pride. “Brown

Sword...

“Sliseag!” Sawyer throws his arms around Rhiannon’s and Ridoc’s shoul...

“You are.” He rips his hand over his hair, and his composure slips. “You have to trust me. You do trust me, right?”

WE DONT TRUST A HOE AND A HOE DONT TRUST ME

“They’re a mated pair, Tairn and Sgaeyl. The strongest bonded pair in centuries.” My mind whirs. Mated pairs can’t be

*smiling at the pages*

“Did I see her outnumbered and already wounded? Did I think her bravery was as admirable as it was fucking reckless?” He turns that stare on me, and I feel the impact all the way to my toes. “And I would do it again.” I raise my chin. “Well-the-fuck-aware,” Xaden roars, losing his temper for the first time since I met him on Parapet. I pull in a quick breath, and Xaden does the same, as if he’s just as shocked by his outburst as I am.

He is already obsessed with her and that stressed him the fuck out

“His mate told him,” I whisper. Sgaeyl called for Tairn. “She’s never been a fan of bullies,” Xaden says to me.

“The unbonded are going to try to kill you in hopes they’ll get Tairn to bond them.” Xaden shakes his head at Garrick as he approaches, and the section leader glances between us, his mouth set in a firm line before retreating across the field. “Tairn is one of the strongest dragons on the Continent,

My scalp prickles, and I glance across the field at him.

Dain’s hands lace up my corset quickly, then are on my face, tipping it up toward his.

Dain get your cheeto dust fingers off violets face

Rhiannon’s door, across the small hall from mine, opens and I see Sawyer’s tall, lean frame come out. He runs his fingers through his hair, and when he sees me, his eyebrows rise and he freezes—his cheeks almost as red as his freckles.

Wait Rhi & Sawyer HOOK UP?!?

“You can trust her,” Tairn says, and I startle, dropping the orange. “She hates me.” “Stop arguing with me and eat something.” There’s zero room for debate in his tone.

Tairn says she can trust imogen

Garrick, whose shoulders look like they should take up at least two seats. It’s Garrick who looks my way first, his forehead lining with… What is that? Worry? Then he looks away.

He’s using a dagger to peel an apple, removing the rind in one long curl, and the blade continues its path as his eyes lift, locking with mine.

A sigh rips from Dain’s lips, and he palms my face gently,

AGAIN WITH THE FACE TOUCHING

I could use a few good folktales of what happens when humans defile the power channeled to them. No doubt they were written as a parable to warn us of the dangers of bonding dragons, but in Navarre’s six-hundred-year history of unification, I’ve never read of a single rider losing their soul to their powers. The dragons keep us from that.

Our Archives have either a copy or the original of almost every book in Navarre. Only ultrarare or forbidden tomes are excluded. When did folklore become either of those? Though, come to think of it, I never came across anything like The Fables of the Barren on the shelves while I was studying to become a scribe. Chimera? Yes. Kraken? Sure. But wyvern or the venin that create them? None. Bizarre. “That’s all right. Thank you for looking,” I sign back.

“And I could call you Violence like the wingleader.”

“Annoys you?” Tairn chuckles above me, the sound like a chuffing cat. “Is that what you call it when your heart rate—”

“Anger does not suit him.”

“Tell him if he harms you, I’ll scorch the ground where he stands.”