Fourth Wing (The Empyrean, #1)

by Rebecca Yarros

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

He’s tall, with windblown black hair and dark brows. The line of his jaw is strong and covered by warm tawny skin and dark stubble, and when he folds his arms across his torso, the muscles in his chest and arms ripple, moving in a way that makes me swallow. And his eyes… His eyes are the shade of gold-flecked onyx. The contrast is startling, jaw-dropping even—everything about him is. His features are so harsh that they look carved, and yet they’re astonishingly perfect, like an artist worked a lifetime sculpting him, and at least a year of that was spent on his mouth.

Blue dragons descend from the extraordinary Gormfaileas line. Known for their formidable size, they are the most ruthless, especially in the case of the rare Blue Daggertail, whose knifelike spikes at the tip of their tail can disembowel an enemy with one flick. —Colonel Kaori’s Field Guide to Dragonkind

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

“Red Scorpiontails, like Ghrian here, are the quickest to temper,”

“She’s a Blue Daggertail, the rarest of the blues, and yes, if you see her without her bonded rider, you should…definitely find somewhere else to be. Ruthless does not begin to describe her, nor does she abide by what we assume to be what the dragons consider law. She even bonded the relative of one of her previous riders, which you all know is typically forbidden, but Sgaeyl does whatever she wants, whenever she wants. In fact, if you see any of the blues, don’t approach them. Just…”

what can you tell me about black dragons?” “They’re the smartest and most discerning,” Aurelie calls out. “They’re the rarest,” I add in. “There hasn’t been one born in the last…century.” “Correct.” Professor Kaori spins the illusion again, and I’m met with a pair of glaring yellow eyes. “They’re also the most cunning. There’s no such thing as outsmarting a black dragon. This one is a little over a hundred, which makes him about middle-aged. He’s revered as a battle dragon among their kind, and if not for him, we probably would have lost during the Tyrrish rebellion. Add to it that he’s a morningstartail, and he’s one of the deadliest dragons in Navarre.”

“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.”

“He always that overprotective?” Xaden grumbles, pressing up from the mat a few inches. “He cares about me.” I glare at him. “He’s holding you back. Don’t worry. Your little poisoning secret is safe with me.” Xaden arches a brow as if to remind me that I’m the keeper of one of his secrets, too. Then he guides our hands back to my ribs and slides the ruby-hilted blade back into its sheath. The move is unnervingly…hot. “You’re not going to disarm me?” I challenge as he releases his grip and pushes up more, removing his weight from my body. My ribs expand as I take my first full breath. “Nope. Defenseless women have never been my type. We’re done for today.” He stands, then walks away without another word, taking his weapons from Imogen as I roll to my knees. Every part of my body aches, but I manage to stand.

Feathertail dragons are the breed we know the least about,

“Green dragons,” I mutter under my breath, “known for their keen intellect, descend from the honorable Uaineloidsig line, and continue to be the most rational of dragonkind, making them the perfect siege weapons, especially in the case of clubtails.”

Orange dragons, coming in various shades of apricot to carrot, are the most—I throw myself to the next rail—unpredictable of dragonkind and therefore always a risk. I move across the rail with the same hand-over-hand motion, ignoring the outright protests of my shoulders. Descending from the Fhaicorain line—

But most importantly, if I go, if I hide…I’ll never know if I’m good enough to make it here. And while I might not survive if I stay, I’m not sure I can live with myself if I leave.

Presentation Day is unlike any other. The air is ripe with possibilities, and possibly the stench of sulfur from a dragon who has been offended. Never look a red in the eye. Never back down from a green. If you show trepidation to a brown…well, just don’t. —Colonel Kaori’s Field Guide to Dragonkind

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

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

“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.”

There is nothing more sacred than the Archives. Even temples can be rebuilt, but books cannot be rewritten. —Colonel Daxton’s Guide to Excelling in the Scribe Quadrant

“Let’s get one thing straight, Dain.” I take a step closer, but the distance between us only widens. “The reason we’ll never be anything more than friends isn’t because of your rules. It’s because you have no faith in me. Even now, when I’ve survived against all odds and bonded not just one dragon but two, you still think I won’t make it. So forgive me, but you’re about to be some of the bullshit that this place cuts away from me.” I move to the side and march past him through the tunnel, forcing air through my lungs.

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

Even the most effective poisons come in pretty packages, and Xaden’s exactly that—as beautiful as he is lethal.

“Don’t you get it?” I interrupt. “It doesn’t matter what you think—it only matters what I think. And you were right. But the Riders Quadrant stripped away the fear and even the anger about being thrown into this quadrant, and it revealed who I really am. At my core, Dain, I’m a rider. Tairn knew it. Andarna knew it. It’s why they chose me. And until you can stop looking for ways to keep me in a glass cage, we aren’t going to get past this, no matter how many years of friendship we have between us.”

“Don’t stress,” Rhiannon says as we take our seats on the padded floor. “That’s what I was trying to remind you of earlier. You are Tairn’s rider.” “What do you mean?” I set my satchel down next to me. “You’re all worried about the integrity of the wing because Riorson might have to visit to keep his dragon happy but, Violet, he’s not the most powerful rider of our generation. You are.” She holds my gaze just long enough to let me know she means it.

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.

“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.”

I am the sky and the power of every storm that has ever been. I am infinite.

There’s nowhere in existence you could go that I wouldn’t find you, Violence.”

And when others are quick to stand in front of me, Xaden always stands at my side, trusting me to hold my own.

“Which one are you calling out for?” he asks against my flesh. “Because it’s just you and me in this room, Vi, and I don’t share.” “You.” My fingers tangle in his hair. “I’m calling out for you.” “I appreciate the elevation to deity, but my name will do.”

She can’t die, and not just because there’s a chance I won’t survive. She can’t die because I know I can’t live without her even if I do. Somewhere between the shock of our attraction at the top of that turret to realizing she risked her own life by giving up a boot for someone else on the parapet that first day to her throwing those daggers at my head under the oak tree, I wavered. I should have realized the danger of getting too close the first time I put her on her back and showed her how easily she could kill me on the mat—a vulnerability I’ve allowed no one else—but I brushed it off as an undeniable attraction to a uniquely beautiful woman. When I watched her conquer the Gauntlet, then defend Andarna at Threshing, I stumbled, stunned by both her cunning and her sense of honor. When I burst into her room and found Oren’s treacherous hand at her throat, the rage that made it so easy to kill all six of them without batting an eye should have told me I was headed for a cliff. And when she smiled at me after mastering her shield in mere minutes, her face lighting up as the snow fell around us, I fucking fell. We hadn’t even kissed, and I fell. Or maybe it was when she threw her knives at Barlowe or when jealousy ate me alive seeing Aetos kiss the mouth I’d dreamed about countless times. Looking back, there were a thousand tiny moments that pulled me over the edge for the woman asleep in the bed I always pictured her in.

“I’m not afraid of hard work, especially not when I know just how sweet the rewards are. I would rather lose this entire war than live without you, and if that means I have to prove myself over and over, then I’ll do it. You gave me your heart, and I’m keeping it.” She already owns mine, even if she doesn’t realize it.