Fourth Wing (The Empyrean, #1)

by Rebecca Yarros

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

“There’s no need to shout. I can hear you just fine. The entire mountain can probably hear you.” Was everyone’s dragon a curmudgeon? Or just mine?

The sun is close to setting behind the peaks, but there’s plenty of light to see the golden dragon up ahead, hovering as though it’s waiting. Maybe it didn’t choose a rider, but it will live to decide again next year, and that’s all that matters.

“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.”

“But maybe you should fly off the next time someone suggests you save yourself, eh?” She blinks. “Maybe I was saving you.”

Melgren, the commanding general of all Navarrian forces, has his beady eyes on Tairn in open assessment.

Because only a rider and the roll-keeper know a dragon’s full name and she’s not certain I’m really his. That’s exactly what she’s implying.

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

“They’re not going to let us do this.” Oh shit, what if they make me choose? My stomach plummets. “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 dies on my tongue as the biggest dragon I’ve ever seen, even larger than Tairn, stalks toward us from the opening to the valley. Each dragon it passes walks into the center of the field and follows after, gathering dozens as it walks. “Is that…” “Codagh,” Tairn answers.

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

“Tairn’s bonds are so powerful, both to mate and rider, because he’s so powerful. Losing his last rider nearly killed him, which, in turn, nearly killed Sgaeyl. Mated pairs’ lives are—”

“Each time a dragon chooses a rider, that bond is stronger than the last, which means that if you die, Violence, it sets off a chain of events that potentially ends with me dying, too.” His expression is immovable marble, but the anger in his eyes leaves me breathless. It’s pure…rage.

Oh. Gods. I’m tethered to Xaden Riorson.

“You have to know how I feel about you.” His thumb strokes over my cheek, his eyes searching for something, and then his mouth is on mine. His lips are soft, but the kiss is firm, and delight races up my spine. After years, Dain is finally kissing me.

The thrill is gone in less than a heartbeat. There’s no heat. No energy. No sharp slice of lust. Disappointment sours the moment, but not for Dain. He’s all smiles as he pulls away.

It was over in an instant. It was everything I’ve ever wanted…except… Shit. I...

“I was told last night that all the less desirable duties were being handed off to the unbonded so our energy can be redirected for flight lessons.”

It’s odd to be on this side of it, and I startle at the sight of the guy behind the counter. It’s Oren.

Jack Barlowe is being squeezed out of his table. He’s forced to stand as others take his seat.

“It’s because you bonded Tairn.” Imogen blows her pink hair out of her face and throws her leg over the bench across from us to sit, pushing up the sleeves of her tunic and revealing

Quinn—the tall second-year in our squad who hasn’t bothered to so much as look our way since Parapet—takes a seat next to Imogen,

My favorite patch, though, is the one beside the Flame Section one. We’re the squad to have the most surviving members since Parapet, this year’s Iron Squad.

“But Barlowe bonded?” Ridoc questions. “Though from what I’ve heard, his Orange Scorpiontail is on the smaller side.”

Imogen scrapes three pieces of sausage onto my plate. “She’s right. You’re going to need all your strength to ride, especially with a dragon as big as Tairn.”

“What’s your signet?” Rhiannon asks Emery. Air rushes down the table, rattling the glasses. Air manipulation. Got it.

He’s ordered her to help train me. Xaden Riorson is now in the business of keeping his mortal enemy alive.

“They’re accommodations for me. I’ve seen your memories. I’m not about to have you sticking daggers into my leg to climb up. Now let’s go.” I snort

“For your own good.” “Are you always around?” I snap back mentally. “Yes. Get used to it.” I fight the urge to growl at the intrusive, overbearing— “Still here.” “Violet?” Dain asks.

“I’m saying the same thing you are.” Two lines appear between his brows. “It’s incredibly frowned upon to have a physical relationship with anyone in our chain of command.” “Oh.” Yeah, that definitely isn’t what I’m saying. “And you know how hard I’ve worked to be a squad leader. I’m determined to be a wingleader next year, and as much as you mean to me…” He shakes his head. Oh. This is all about politics for him. “Right.” I nod slowly. “I get it.” It shouldn’t matter that the only reason he isn’t pursuing me is rank, and it honestly doesn’t.

“Sorrengail, let’s go. I am not sitting around all night,” Imogen calls from the doorway, her arms folded across her chest. “If our squad leader is done with you, that is.”

For just this second, I abhor the rituals and customs of the scribes. There would be nothing wrong with pulling my friend into a hug, but she’d be chastised for a loss of composure. After all, how could we know how earnest the scribes are about their work, how dedicated they remain, if they were to crack a smile?

“I’m fine,” I assure her, then pause to search my memory for the correct sign for a dragon bond. “I’m bonded and…” My feelings are complicated, but I think about the way it felt to soar on Tairn’s back, the gentle nudges from Andarna to keep going when I thought my muscles might give out during Imogen’s training sessions, and my relationships with my friends, and I can’t deny the truth. “I’m happy.”

There’s no sign for wyvern or venin, so I spell them out. “Wyvern, venin, magic, the battles of good and evil—you know, the good stuff.” I grin. If anyone understands my love of books, it’s Jesinia. “I’ve never heard of that one, but I’ll look for it while I pull these.”

Scribes come and go, some in groups as they train to become our kingdom’s historians, and I find myself staring at every hooded figure, searching for a face I know I can’t find—searching for my father.

His gaze meets mine under his hood. “I had hopes she would return, but alas, she has bonded to not one but two dragons.”

“Yes, sir.” I step back, giving the squad room to pass. “You are sad?” Andarna asks, her voice soft. “Just visiting the Archives. No need to worry,” I tell her. “It’s hard to love a second home as much as the first.” I swallow. “It’s easy when the second home is the right one.” And that is what the Riders Quadrant has become to me—the right home.

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.

“The uptick in attacks along the border…”

“Sorry, man, but you were. If your sword hadn’t decided to warp and go straight for that guy’s arm—” “You’re a metallurgist?” Quinn’s eyebrows rise. “Really?” Holy crap, Sawyer can manipulate metals. I force down a little more turkey and openly stare at him.

“You’ll manifest when your dragon is ready to trust you with all that power,”

“Look, the relic your dragons transferred onto you at Threshing is the conduit to let all that magic into your body. If you don’t manifest a signet and let it out, then after a bunch of months, bad things happen.” We all gawk. “The magic consumes you,” Quinn adds, making the explosion sound again.

The wielding professor is one of the only ones I haven’t met, since I haven’t manifested a signet. “Fucking terrifying,” Sawyer answers. “I can’t wait for the entire year to start wielding lessons so everyone can enjoy his particular brand of instruction.”

“I’m not the one putting us into spirals with steep banks while Kaori is teaching plain dives.” My feet hit the ground of the field, and I arch an eyebrow at Tairn. “I’m training you for battle. He’s teaching you parlor tricks.” He blinks a golden eye at me and looks away.

“I never get to see her,” I blatantly whine. “I’m always stuck with your grumpy ass.” “I’m always here,” Andarna answers, but there’s no flicker of gold. She’s most likely in the Vale as usual, but at least she’s protected there.

“You’re a menace. Stop it,” I say. “Tell him if he harms you, I’ll scorch the ground where he stands.” “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Tairn.” I roll my eyes and walk to Dain, whose jaw is locked, but his eyes are wide with apprehension. “Tell him, or I’ll take it up with Cath.”

“I’m hungry. I think I’ll partake in a flock of sheep.”

“Will you at least tell me what part

“You want a list of my flaws?” I roll my eyes. “My thighs are too weak, but I’m building muscle. My hands can’t grip the pommel, but they’re getting stronger. It took weeks for my biceps to heal, so I’m training that one, too. But you don’t have to worry about me, Dain—Imogen is training me.”

“And you just took her word for it? Without asking me what happened?” “She’s a wingleader, Vi. I’m not about to question her integrity!” “I proved myself with the Codex, and Riorson accepted it. He’s a wingleader, too.”