Fourth Wing (The Empyrean, #1)

by Rebecca Yarros

the Healer Quadrant that consumes the southern end of the college.

I have exactly two shades when it comes to the sun, pale and burned.

Me

We’re moving to Fourth Wing. Xaden’s wing.

There’s a fucking smirk on Xaden’s arrogant, handsome face.

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

It is my opinion that of all the signet powers riders provide, mending is the most precious, but we cannot allow ourselves to become complacent when in the company of such a signet. For menders are rare, and the wounded are not. —Major Frederick’s Modern Guide for Healers

Healers do not have magic, relying on traditional tinctures and medical training to heal as best they can, but menders do.

The signet of mending is exceptionally rare among riders. They have the power to fix, to restore, to return anything to its original state—from ripped cloth to pulverized bridges, including broken human bones. My brother, Brennan, was a mender—and would have become one of the greatest had he lived.

“Fascinating. You look all frail and breakable, but you’re really a violent little thing, aren’t you?”

“Now, get back to bed before your wingleader realizes you’re out after curfew.” “What?” I gawk after him. “You’re my wingleader!”

Signets are the result of the unique chemistry between rider and dragon and usually say more about the rider than the dragon. The stronger the bond and the more powerful the dragon, the stronger the signet.”

“I’m going to be fine,” I recite, because that’s my fucking mantra.

Positive thinking for the win, right?

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

“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.”

“They’re a mated pair, Tairn and Sgaeyl. The strongest bonded pair in centuries.”

I’m tethered to Xaden Riorson.

I belong to Tairn and Andarna…and, in some really fucked-up way…Xaden.

Before I can argue that point, his gaze shifts to my throat and narrows at what I imagine has to be the purple imprint of a hand. “I should have killed him slower.” “I’m fine.” I’m not. His focus snaps back to my eyes. “Never lie to me.” He says it with such ferocity, bit out through gritted teeth, that I can’t help but nod in promise. “It hurts,” I admit. “Let me see.”

he drops to his knees on the floor before me. My eyes widen. Xaden Riorson is kneeling before me, his black hair at the perfect level for me to run my fingers through the thickness. It’s probably the only thing that’s soft about him.

I nod, lifting my foot. Then he robs me of every logical thought by putting on my boots and lacing them one at a time. This is the same man who had no problems with my death just a few months ago, and my brain can’t seem to wrap itself around the different sides of him. “Let’s go.” He wraps my cloak around my shoulders and buttons it at my collar like I’m something precious. Now I know I’m in shock because I’m anything but precious to Xaden Riorson.

Not that I wouldn’t climb the man like a tree if presented with the right set of circumstances.

While I’d admired Liam upstairs, I am completely, utterly obsessed with Xaden.