Fourth Wing (The Empyrean, #1)

by Rebecca Yarros

“When do we get to kill Violet Sorrengail?” a guy toward the back asks. My blood turns to ice. The murmur of assent among the group sends a jolt of terror down my spine. “Yeah, Xaden,” Imogen says sweetly, lifting her pale green eyes to him. “When do we get to finally have our revenge?” He turns just enough for me to see his profile and the scar that crosses his face as he narrows his eyes at Imogen. “I told you already, the youngest Sorrengail is mine, and I’ll handle her when the time is right.” He’ll…handle me? My muscles thaw with the heat of indignation. I’m not some inconvenience to be handled. My short-lived admiration of Xaden is over.

“Her mom is responsible for the capture of nearly all our parents,” Garrick counters, folding his arms over his wide chest. “Not her daughter. Punishing children for the sins of their parents is the Navarrian way, not the Tyrrish.”

Brennan Sorrengail,” Xaden adds. “She has just as much reason to hate us as we do her.” He pointedly looks at Imogen and the first-year who raised the question. “And I’m not going to tell you again. She’s mine to handle. Anyone feel like arguing?”

A shadow lunges behind me and I open my mouth to scream, but my air supply is cut off by an elbow around my neck as I’m yanked against a hard chest. “Scream and you die,” he whispers, and my stomach plummets as the elbow is replaced by the sharp bite of a dagger at my throat. I freeze. I’d recognize the rough pitch of Xaden’s voice anywhere. “Fucking Sorrengail.” His hand yanks back the hood of my cloak. “How did you know?” My tone is outright indignant, but whatever. If he’s going to kill me, I’m not going down as some simpering little beggar. “Let me guess, you could smell my perfume. Isn’t that what always gives the heroine away in books?” He scoffs. “I command shadows, but sure, it was your perfume that gave you away.” He lowers the knife and steps away. I gasp. “Your signet is a 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.

“That stance is really the best defense you can muster? No wonder Imogen nearly ripped your arm off.” “I’m more dangerous than you think,” I flat-out bluster. “So I see. I’m quaking in my boots.” The corner of his mouth rises into a mocking smirk. Fucking. Asshole.

“You missed.” He doesn’t even flinch. “Did I?” I reach for my last two blades. “Why don’t you back up a couple of steps and test that theory?” Curiosity flares in his eyes, but it’s gone in the next second, masked by cold, mocking indifference. Every one of my senses is on high alert, but the shadows around me don’t slide in as he moves backward, his eyes locked with mine. His back hits the tree, and the hilts of my daggers brush his ears. “Tell me again that I missed,” I threaten, taking the dagger in my right hand by the tip. “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.”

Or she could've cut his balls off on day one.

“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.”

There is an art to poison not often discussed, and that is timing. Only a master can properly dose and administer for effective onset. One must take into account the mass of the individual as well as the method of delivery. —Effective Uses of Wild and Cultivated Herbs by Captain Lawrence Medina

The squad leaders talk a good game about enforcing curfew, but no one really cares. Well, except Dain. He cares about every rule. Dain. My chest tightens, and I smile as I finish braiding my hair into a crown. Seeing him is the best part of my day, even the moments when he’s anything but personable in public. Even in the moments where he’s consumed with trying to save me from this place.

“Maybe we were just up early,” Rhiannon counters. “You know, like you are right now.” She glances between the two of us with a mischievous smirk. Dain rubs the bridge of his nose. “Just…get back to the dorms and pretend you slept there, will you?” “Absolutely!” She squeezes my hand as she passes by. “Way to go,” I whisper quickly. She’s had a thing for Tara since we got here. “I know, right?” She backs away with a smile, then turns to push through the hall doors. “Monitoring the sex lives of first-years was not what I had in mind when I applied to be a squad leader,” Dain mutters, and we continue toward the kitchen. “Oh, come on. Like you weren’t a first-year yourself last year.”

“Why, Dain Aetos! Are you asking me about my sex life?” I let my fingers trail along the exposed fangs of the green dragon pillar and bite back a smile as we walk by. “No!” He shakes his head, then pauses in thought. “I mean…is there a sex life to ask about?” We climb the steps that lead into commons, and I turn just before the door to face him. He’s two steps below me, putting us at eye level. “Since I got here?” I tap my chin with my finger and smile. “That’s none of your business. Before I got here? Still none of your business.” “Another fair point.” His mouth curves into a grin that makes me wish it was his business, though.

“Violet? Did you hear me?” Dain asks, lifting a hand to cradle my face. Jerking my gaze to his, I nod and repeat, “Steer clear of Barlowe.” He drops his hand and shoves it into a pocket of his pants. “Hopefully he’ll forget all about his little vendetta against you.” “Do most men forget when a woman holds a knife to their balls?” I cock an eyebrow at him. “No.”

The wards are faltering at a rate that makes my stomach tense every time Professor Devera starts our daily Battle Brief. Either we’re weakening or our enemies are getting stronger. Both possibilities mean the cadets in this room are needed more than ever. Even me.

“You won’t have to worry about how to approach blue dragons, since there are none willing to bond this Threshing, but you should be able to recognize Sgaeyl if you see her,” Professor Kaori says. “So you can fucking run,” Ridoc drawls. I nod along while others laugh. “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…” “Run,” Ridoc repeats, raking his hand through his floppy brown hair. “Run,” Professor Kaori agrees with a smile, the mustache above his top lip quivering slightly. “There are a handful of other blues in active service, but you’ll find them all along the Esben Mountains in the east, where the fighting is most intense. They’re all intimidating, but Sgaeyl is the most powerful of them all.”

Probably just to screw with you, a monster playing with his prey before pouncing.

But since we have him up here, 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.”

Will this be her dragon? If so its a little on the nose and definitely predictable🤔

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.”

“He could absorb power from various sources, other dragons, other riders, and then use it or redistribute it.” “Badass.” Ridoc’s tone has more than a little hero worship. “He was,” Professor Kaori agrees. “What kills someone with that kind of signet?” Jack asks, crossing his arms over his thick chest. Professor Kaori glances at me for a heartbeat before looking away. “He attempted to use that power to revive a fallen rider—which didn’t work, because there’s no signet capable of resurrection—and depleted himself in the process. To use a phrase you’ll become accustomed to after Threshing, he burned out and died next to that rider.”

“It was Brennan, wasn’t it?” I ask Professor Kaori. Sadness fills his gaze as he meets mine. “Yes. He died trying to save your brother, but Brennan was too far gone.”

“Being a Sorrengail doesn’t do you any favors in here, does it?”

“Violet,” Professor Kaori calls out, and I pivot to look back. “I taught both your siblings. A signet like mine is too useful here in the classroom to let me deploy with a wing for long. 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.” “Thank you, but being smart and compassionate isn’t going to help me when it comes to Threshing.” A self-deprecating laugh escapes. “You know more about dragons than anyone else in the quadrant, probably anyone else on the Continent. They choose strength and shrewdness.” “They choose for reasons they don’t see fit to share with us.” He pushes off his desk. “And not all strength is physical, Violet.”

Delicate, my ass. He’d probably think twice about plotting your murder if you threw a few daggers at his head. I unsheathe both daggers from my ribs and flick them in his direction in one smooth movement. They land right where I intended—one nearly nicking his ear and the other an inch beneath his balls. Fear widens his eyes. I shamelessly grin and wiggle my fingers in a wave. “Violet,” Dain hisses as Jack maneuvers around my blades, stepping away from the wall. “You’ll pay for that.” Jack points at me and stalks off, but the rise and fall of his shoulders is a little choppy. I watch his back retreat, then retrieve my daggers, sheathing them at my ribs before returning to Dain’s side. “What the hell was that?” he seethes. “I told you to lay low when it comes to him, and you…” He shakes his head at me. “You just piss him off even more?” “Laying low wasn’t getting me anywhere,” I say with a shrug as Rhiannon’s opponent is carried off the mat. “He needs to realize I’m not a liability.” And I’ll be harder to kill than he thinks.

“I’m happy to step in.” That voice. That tone. That prickle of ice along my scalp… Oh no. Hell no. No. No. No. “You sure?” Professor Emetterio asks, glancing over his shoulder. “Absolutely.” My stomach hits the floor. And Xaden walks onto the mat.

I will not die today. —Violet Sorrengail’s personal addendum to the Book of Brennan

“A little out of her league, don’t you think?” Dain argues from the side of the mat, tension radiating from every word. “Relax, Aetos.” Xaden looks over my shoulder, his gaze hardening toward where I know Dain is standing, where he always stands when I’m on the mat. The look Xaden gives him makes me realize he’s been taking it easy on me in the glaring department. “She’ll be in one piece when I’m finished teaching her.” “I hardly think it’s fair—” Dain’s voice rises. “No one asked you to think, squad leader,” Xaden fires back as he moves to the side, discarding every weapon on his body—and there’s a lot of them—and handing them to Imogen.

“You don’t think you’ll need those?” I ask, palming my own blades. His chest is massive, with wide shoulders and heavily muscled arms alongside. A target this big should be easy to hit. “Nope. Not when you brought enough for the both of us.” A wicked smile curves his mouth as he stretches out his hand and curls his fingers in a come-hither motion. “Let’s go.”

He fucking catches it and clucks his tongue. “Already seen that move.” Holy shit is he fast.

“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.”

“Don’t trust a single person who faces you on this mat,” he warns in a hiss, his breath warm against the shell of my ear, and even though we’re surrounded by people, I realize he’s quiet for a reason. This lesson is just for me. “Even someone who owes me a favor?”

“I’m the one who decides when to grant that favor. Not you.” Xaden releases my hand and steps back. I whirl, punching for his throat, and he knocks my hand aside. “Good,” he says with a smile, deflecting my next blow without so much as a hitch to his breath. “Going for the throat is your best option, as long as it’s exposed.”

“Taking out your enemy before the battle is really smart; I’ll give that to you,” he whispers, his warm breath brushing the shell of my ear. Oh gods. He knows what I’ve been doing. The pain in my arm is nothing compared to the nausea churning in my stomach at the thought of what he might do with that knowledge. “Problem is, if you aren’t testing yourself in here”—he scrapes the dagger down my neck, but there’s no warm trickle of blood, so I know he hasn’t cut me—“then you’re not going to get any better.” “You’d rather I die, no doubt,” I fire back, the side of my face pressed into the mat. This isn’t just painful, it’s humiliating. “And be denied the pleasure of your company?” he mocks. “I fucking hate you.” The words are past my lips before I can shut my mouth. “That doesn’t make you special.”

Heat rushes up my neck and flames lick my cheeks as he lowers his face so his lips are only inches away from mine. I can make out every speck of gold in his onyx eyes, every bump and ridge of his scar.

Beautiful. Fucking. Asshole. My breath catches and my body warms, the traitorous bitch. You are not attracted to toxic men, I remind myself, and yet, here I am, getting all attracted. I have been since the first second I saw him, if I feel like being honest.

Same, Girl, Same!!!

“Oh, Violence, you’re good, but I’ve known better poison masters. The trick is to not make it quite so obvious.”

Oh... Hmm??

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.”

AHHHHHHHH. THIS MOTHERFUCKER😱🥵🔥👏🏻

“Why would you tell Markham about it anyway? He’s a scribe, and there’s nothing he would do even if he could.” “He said he’d still take you,” Dain blurts, his hands flying to my hips, holding me in place when I try to step away. “I asked him if he’d allow you into the Scribe Quadrant for your own safety, and he said yes. They’d put you with the first-years. It’s not like you’d have to wait until next Conscription Day or anything.” “You what?” I twist, breaking my hold, and back away from my best friend. “I saw a way to get you out of danger, and I took it.” He stands. “You went behind my back because you think I’m not cutting it.” The truth of the words tightens around my chest like a vise, cutting off my air instead of holding me together, leaving me weak and breathless. Dain knows me better than anyone, and if he still thinks I can’t do this after I’ve made it this far… Tears well in my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. Instead, I tuck my chin and grab my dragon-scale vest, pull it over my head, then wrench the laces together at the small of my back and tie them. Dain sighs. “I never said I don’t think you can cut it, Violet.” “You say it every day!” I snap. “You say it when you walk me from formation to class, which I know makes you late for flight line. You say it when you yell at your wingleader when he takes me to the mat—” “He had no right to—” “He’s my wingleader!” I shrug my tunic over my head. “He has the right to do whatever he wants—including execute me.” “A...

Dain is so damn Annoying!

“I’m not a damned liability.” My chest tightens again, because deep down I know, on the physical level, that I am. “Not to me,” he whispers, a hand rising to cradle my cheek. “But they don’t know you the way I do, Vi. And while the first-years like Barlowe and Seifert are hunting you, we’ll have to watch. I’ll have to watch, Violet.” The break in his voice takes the anger right out of me. “We are not allowed to help you. To save you.” “Dain—” “And when they gather the bodies for the roll, no one’s going to document how that cadet died. You’re just as likely to fall under Barlowe’s knife as a dragon’s talon.” I breathe through the jolt of fear. “Markham says that he’ll put you through the first year without telling your mother. By the time she finds out, you’ll already be inducted as a scribe. There’s nothing she can do after that.” He lifts his other hand so he’s holding my face between both palms, tipping it up toward his. “Please. If you won’t do it for yourself, then do it for me.” My heart stutters, and I sway, his reasoning tugging me toward exactly what he’s suggesting. But you’ve made it this far, a part of me whispers. “I can’t lose you, Violet,” he whispers, resting his forehead against mine. “I just…can’t.” I squeeze my eyes shut. This is my way out, and yet, I don’t want to take it. “Just promise me you’ll think about it,” he begs. “We still have four weeks until Threshing. Just…think about it.”

🤮Oh look now He's trying to manipulate her.....STFU and go on somewhere🙄🖕

Don’t underestimate the challenge of the Gauntlet, Mira. It’s designed to test your balance, strength, and agility. The times don’t matter for shit, only that you make it to the top. Reach for the ropes when you have to. Coming in last is better than coming in dead. —Page forty-six, the Book of Brennan

“Aetos is especially proud of Sorrengail.” Tynan gifts me with a mocking sneer once our instructor is out of hearing range. I see red. “Look, if you want to talk shit about me, that’s one thing, but leave Dain out of it.” “Tynan,” Sawyer warns, shaking his head. “Like it doesn’t bother any of you that our squad leader is fucking one of us?” Tynan throws out his hands. “I’m not—” I start, indignation getting the best of me before I can take a deep breath. “Honestly, it’s none of your godsdamned business who I’m sleeping with, Tynan.” Though if I’m going to get accused, can’t I have some of the perks? If I know Dain, he’s hung up on the whole fraternization-is-discouraged-within-the-chain-of-command thing like this asshole. But surely Dain would actually make a move if he really wanted to, right?

No he wouldn't because he's a weenie and doesn't deserve you and he knows it

Dain would more than take exception to Tynan’s assumptions and probably assign him cleanup duty for a month. Good thing he’s on the flight field this time of day. Xaden would just beat the shit out of him. I blink, shoving that comparison and any other thought of Xaden Riorson far out of my head.

Because we like him better than Dain!

“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.” I finish as I line my body up with the first metal rod and get ready to sprint forward.

The first clang of iron as the rails meet makes my fingers slip, and I gasp as terror claws its way out of my stomach. 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—

“This is the best!” “You clearly need to see the healers. You must have hit your head if you think this is fun.”

“Debating running away,” I retort. “How about you? Feel like sharing?” I ask mockingly, knowing he’s not about to answer me. “The same.” Sarcastic ass.

It’s not a flattering picture, but if you want to run off to the Scribe Quadrant—” I gasp, fear punching a hole in my stomach. “How do you know about that?” If he knows…if he tells, Dain is in danger. A wicked smile curves Xaden’s perfect lips. “I know everything that goes on here.” Darkness swirls around us. “Shadows, remember? They hear everything, see everything, conceal everything.”

“My mother would definitely reward you if you told her about Dain’s plan,” I say softly. “She’d definitely reward you for telling her about my little…what did you call it? Club.” “I’m not going to tell her.” The words sound defensive. “I know. It’s why you’re still alive.”

Hope is a fickle, dangerous thing. It steals your focus and aims it toward the possibilities instead of keeping it where it belongs—on the probabilities.”

“The right way isn’t the only way. Figure it out.” Then he turns and walks away. Fuck. Him.

It is a grave offense against Malek to keep the belongings of a dead loved one. They belong in the beyond with the god of death and the departed. In the absence of a proper temple, any fire will do. He who does not burn for Malek will be burned by Malek. —Major Rorilee’s Guide to Appeasing the Gods,