Fourth Wing (The Empyrean, #1)

by Rebecca Yarros

I don’t want to find a single thing about Xaden Riorson admirable, and yet here he is, being all annoyingly admirable. Asshole.

“I told you already, the youngest Sorrengail is mine, and I’ll handle her when the time is right.”

The god of luck

shadow wielder?” No wonder he’s risen so high in rank. Shadow wielders are incredibly rare and highly coveted in battle, able to disorient entire drifts of gryphons, if not take them down, depending upon the signet’s strength.

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

“He’d probably think twice about plotting your murder if you threw a few daggers at his head.”

This is…this is…bizarre. It has to be some kind of game meant to confuse me, right? And if so, he’s playing it really fucking well.

“Interesting,” he says softly. “We’ll see if you keep your word, and if you do, then unfortunately, it looks like I owe you a favor.” Then he steps away, turns, and walks off, heading back toward the staircase in the cliff that leads up to the citadel.

“I always worry about you.” Dain’s hands curl into fists.

No wonder Xaden can wield shadows—shadows that can yank daggers out of trees, shadows that can probably throw those same daggers. And yet…he let me live. I shove the kernel of warmth that thought gives me far, far away.

Brennan was a spectacular rider and a good man. Mira is shrewd and gifted in the seat when it comes to riding.” I nod. “But you’re smarter than both of them.” I blink. It’s not often I get compared to my brother and sister and somehow come out on top. “From what I’ve seen of you helping your friend study in commons every night, it seems you might be more compassionate, too. Don’t forget that.”

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

“Badass,” Rhiannon says as she moves to my other side. “I thought Jack was going to shit himself.”

“Going for blood today, are we, Violence?” he whispers. Metal hits the mat again and he kicks it past my head and out of my reach. He’s not taking my daggers to use against me; he’s disarming me just to prove he can. My blood boils. “My name is Violet,” I seethe. “I think my version fits you better.” He releases my wrist and stands, offering me a hand. “We’re not done yet.”

Uaineloidsig line, and continue to be

“Look, are you going to kill me or not? The anticipation is starting to annoy the fuck out of me.”

“So I’m supposed to what? Not hope that I live? Just plan for death?” “You’re supposed to focus on the things that can kill you so you find ways to not die.” He shakes his head. “I can barely count the number of people in this quadrant who want you dead, either as revenge against your mother or because you’re just really good at pissing people off, but you’re still here, defying the odds.”

“Dain lost his vote when he tried talking you into leaving,” she counters.

“I’m used to functioning in pain, asshole. Are you?”

My arm is shot. My leg is shot. But at least I made Jack Barlowe run away before I died.

“Step aside, Silver One,” a deep, gruff, definitely male voice orders. I blink. Wait. What? Did he just speak to me? “Yes. You. Move.” There’s zero room for argument in his tone, and I limp to the side, nearly stumbling over Oren’s unconscious body as Tynan breaks into a screaming run, fleeing for the trees.

“You should end the enemy at your feet.”

“He would kill you if given the same chance.”

“My name is Tairneanach, son of Murtcuideam and Fiaclanfuil, descended from the cunning Dubhmadinn line.” He stands to his full height, bringing me eye level with the canopy of trees around the clearing, and I squeeze a little tighter with my thighs. “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’m clasped in Tairn’s claws. He’s actually…caught me instead of finding me unworthy and letting me fall to my death. “It’s not like it’s easy to stay on your back when you’re doing acrobatics!” I shout up. He glances down at me, and I swear the ridge above his eye arches. “Simple flight is hardly acrobatics.”

“Now get in the seat and actually hold on this time, or no one is going to believe that I’ve actually chosen you,” he growls.

“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.”

“No. I wouldn’t have.” My heart hits the ground. I’ve always known deep down that Dain valued rule and order more than relationships, more than me, but to have it so cruelly displayed cuts deeper than Tynan’s sword.

He glances toward Imogen and back to me, and that’s all it takes for me to know for certain. He’s ordered her to help train me. Xaden Riorson is now in the business of keeping his mortal enemy alive.

Honestly, if I had those teeth bared at me, I’d back away, too. “No you wouldn’t, because you didn’t. You stayed and defended Andarna.” His voice fills my head, and I can tell from his tone there are places he’d rather be.

“The closest translation for humans is probably ‘for fuck’s sake.’ Now. Are you going to stay in your seat this time?”

“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. The longing for the kind of peace and solitude I found only here can’t match the adrenaline rush of flight.

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

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

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.

“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?”

“There is no rule that says a dragon cannot modify their seat to serve their rider. You have worked just as hard—if not harder—than every rider in this quadrant. Just because your body is built differently than the others doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to keep your seat. It takes more than a few strips of leather and a pommel to define a rider.”

“You can ride me when the flesh rots off my bones, wingleader.”

“Look, there’s no rule against it. I checked. And if anything, you’ll be doing Tairn a favor by freeing all his power and taking the weight of worry off his mind. Mine too, if that helps matters.”

“Fuck, that stubborn, feisty look always makes me want to kiss you.” Xaden’s expression remains bland, bored even, but his eyes heat as his gaze drops to my mouth. “And you say this now, where people will see if you actually do.” My breath catches. “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.”

“This is ingenious,” I say to Xaden. “Let me know if it needs modifications after we win today.”

And for the first time, there’s no fear that I’ll tumble off his back. Slowly, I unclench my hands from the pommels and a heartbeat later, my hands are above my head as we plummet toward the valley below. I’ve lived twenty years and never felt as alive as I do in this moment. Without even grounding in my Archives, power surges in my veins, crackling with a life all its own, jolting every single one of my senses to a degree that nears pain.

“I’m proud you’re mine.” Andarna’s voice wavers, the blinks of her eyes becoming slower. “Even if I need a bath.”

“I’ve never seen anything like it. I don’t think there’s been a lightning wielder in more than a century—” He pauses. “Violet?”

“The world is a better place without Barlowe in it. We both know that. Do I wish I’d been the one to end his miserable life? Absolutely. But what you did will save countless others. He was nothing more than a bully and was only going to get worse as he grew more powerful. His dragon will choose another rider when she’s ready. I’m glad he’s dead. I am glad you killed him.”

They’re tools for good in the world. And what the hell am I, Xaden? I’m a fucking weapon.”

“By defeating invading armies before they get the chance to hurt civilians. You want to keep Rhiannon’s nephew alive in that little border village? This is how. You want to keep Mira alive when she’s behind enemy lines? This. Is. How. You are not just a weapon, Sorrengail. You are the weapon. You train this ability, own it, and you’ll have the power to defend an entire kingdom.” He smooths back more wind-loosened tendrils of my hair behind my ears, clearing my vision so I have no excuse but to see the honesty in his eyes. When he’s sure I’m not going to argue further, he looks to his side. “Rhiannon, can you get her back to the citadel?”

“When did I ever give you the impression that I give a fuck what people think?” I use his earlier words against him and sit up, curling my hand around the section of his neck that bears his relic. “Stay with me, Xaden. Don’t

make me beg.” “We both know this is a bad idea.” “Then it’s our bad idea.”