Fourth Wing (The Empyrean, #1)

by Rebecca Yarros

“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.

loud sigh resonates through my mind. “I didn’t think I would, either, so we have that in common.”

“We’re going to have to put on a show.” “Awesome.” The idea is anything but.

His wings give a mighty beat, and we lurch upward in what feels like a ninety-degree climb, leaving my stomach back at the lower altitude. He crests the top of the snow-dusted peaks, and we hang there for a breath of a second before he twists, diving back down at the same terrifying angle.

“But…” I shake my head. “Dragons value strength and cunning and…ferocity in their riders.” None of which defines me. “Please, do tell me more about what I should value.”

“They are divided between those still in the quadrant who chose in years past and those who chose today,” Tairn tells me. “We are the seventy-first bond to enter the fields.”

Tairn is the most celebrated dragon in the Vale, and I’m the most unlikely rider in the quadrant. “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.”

“See? Smartest of your year.” So much for privacy. “You’ll never be alone again.” “That sounds more like a threat than a comfort,” I think.

Tairn tucks his wings up and looks over his shoulder at me with an expression that’s the closest thing to a dragon rolling his eyes that I’ve ever seen. “You need to dismount before I rethink my selection, then tell the roll-keeper—”

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

“Didn’t anyone tell you that you’re not supposed to speak to humans who aren’t your rider? Don’t go getting yourself in trouble, Goldie,” I whisper. “From what I hear, dragons are pretty strict about breaking that rule.”

I open my mouth to agree— “Andarnaurram.” The sweet, high voice of the golden fills my mind. “Andarna for short.”

“Violet, are you all right?” the redhead asks, and everyone around me, above me, leans in. “Tell her,” the golden insists. “Tairn. What am I supposed to—” I think at him. “Tell the roll-keeper her name,” Tairn echoes.

Two dragons. I have…two dragons.

“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.”

“The Green Daggertail!” Rhiannon grins. “Feirge. And it was just…easy.” She sighs. “I saw her and just knew.” “Aotrom,” Ridoc says with pride. “Brown Swordtail.” “Sliseag!” Sawyer throws his arms around Rhiannon’s and Ridoc’s shoulders. “Red Swordtail!”

“That’s because his signet power makes him indispensable as a teacher, not because his dragon can’t fly,” I argue.

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

Mated pairs can’t be separated for long or their health diminishes, so they’re always stationed together. Always. Which means—oh gods.

His appeal is so fucking inconvenient.

“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.”

A back that has a glistening black relic of a dragon mid-flight stretching from shoulder to shoulder and, in the center, the silhouette of a shimmering golden one.

His lips are soft, but the kiss is firm, and delight races up my spine. After years, Dain is finally kissing me.

“It’s not like that with us. I’d always hoped it would be, but when he kissed me—there was nothing there. Like. Nothing.”

“Willing doesn’t mean they found worthy riders,” Tairn answers.

Jeremiah’s signet power is manifesting. He can read minds—an inntinnsic. His power is a death sentence.

“A memory has never been shared outside of a mating bond. It’s considered a violation.”

“You were fostered?” My mouth drops open. Fostering the children of aristocrats was a custom that died out after the unification of Navarre more than six hundred years ago.

Tairn’s emotions aren’t just overwhelming me; they’re controlling me.

“Often enough that you’re going to need proper shields. You won’t ever be able to block them out completely, and sometimes they forget to block us, like tonight. That’s why the churam helps, but at least it’s like walking by a brothel instead of actively participating in one.”

Ridoc can wield ice, which might be a more common signet, but it’s impressive to see.

Sawyer’s metallurgy powers grow every day.

Liam can see a single tree ...

I study the blade in his hand. It’s beautiful, with a solid black hilt engraved with Tyrrish knots, old, mythical runes of intricate swirls and ties. The blade itself is clearly honed to lethal perfection. “It’s spectacular.”

What had Sgaeyl said about signets? It reflects who you are at the core of your being.

“Twenty-three,” he answers. “My birthday was in March.” And I didn’t even know. “Mine is in—” “July,” he answers with a ghost of a smile.

“The leather is a hazard on my chest if we take a fire attack, since your saddle would slide right off. But if you take a direct blast up there, sitting on a piece of metal isn’t going to save you.”

Tairn roars with the unmistakable sound of pride. “Lightning wielder.”

“I don’t want this,” I blurt. “Rhiannon can move objects through space, and Dain has retrocognition—” “Hey,” Dain snaps. “You think I didn’t know that already?” Xaden barks over his shoulder. “Kaori can bring his imagination to life, and Sawyer can bend metal. Mira can extend the wards. Everyone has a signet that isn’t just useful for battle. They’re tools for good in the world. And what the hell am I, Xaden? I’m a fucking weapon.”

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.”

“Do not feel guilt that you cannot tell her. This secret belongs to dragonkind, not you,” Tairn warns. “No one has the right to risk our hatchlings. Not even you, Silver One.”

There’s pure longing in his eyes as he scans the length of my body from my bare toes to the hemline that skirts my thighs, over my breasts to my neck, finally reaching my eyes.

“They all carry rebellion relics,” I tell him. “Everyone in this squad besides me is the child of a separatist.” In the chaos of the flight field, Xaden constructed an all-marked squad. And they’re all. Fucking. Traitors. And I fell for it. I fell for him.

“Dragons are bound by bonds,” he explains as Xaden approaches. “There is only one other bond more sacred than that of a dragon and its rider.” A dragon and its mate. Everyone knew but me. Even my own dragons.

“Because our wards make all non-dragon magic impossible.”

It only takes one desperate generation to change history—even erase it.

“One generation to change the text. One generation chooses to teach that text. The next grows, and the lie becomes history.”

“I don’t have to,” I tell him. “Didn’t you hear what the venin said? I can command the sky to surrender all its power, but I’m going to need every ounce of yours to do it.”