Fourth Wing

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Flying for short distances is something I manage.

Flight maneuvers — the dips and dives that come with combat formations— send me spinning through the sky unless Tairn holds me on with bands of his own power.

But flying for six hours straight for our prize, a weeklong tour of a forward outpost, might just be the death of me.

“I’m pretty sure I’m dying.” Nadine bends over, bracing her hands on her knees.

“I feel that.” Every vertebra in my spine screams as I stretch, and the hands that were freezing only a few minutes ago start to sweat inside my leather gloves.

Naturally, Dain is minimally affected, his posture only slightly stiff as he and Professor Devera greet a tall man in rider black, who I assume is the outpost commander.

“Welcome, cadets,” the commander says with a professional smile, folding his arms across the chest of his lightweight leathers. His salt-and-pepper hair makes it hard to determine his age, and he has that gaunt, weathered look all riders get when they’ve been stationed on the border for too long. “I’m sure you’d all like to get settled and into something a little more appropriate to the climate. Then we’ll show you around Montserrat.”

Rhiannon inhales sharply, her gaze sweeping over the mountains.

“You all right?”

She nods. “Later.”

Later arrives in exactly twelve sweat-soaked minutes as we’re shown to our double-occupancy barracks rooms. They’re sparse, only furnished with two beds, two wardrobes, and a single desk under a wide window.

She’s quiet the entire time we make our way through the bathing chamber to wash off the ride and alarmingly silent while we dress in our summer leathers. It may only be April here at Montserrat, but it feels like Basgiath in June.

“You going to tell me what’s up?” I ask, stowing my pack beneath the bed before making sure all my daggers are where they’re supposed to be.

The hilts are barely visible in the sheaths I wear at my thighs, but I doubt many people this far east would recognize the Tyrrish symbols.

Rhiannon’s hands tremble with what looks like nervous energy as she straps her sword to her back. “Do you know where we are?”

I mentally bring up a map. “We’re about two hundred miles from the coast—”

“My village is less than an hour away on foot.” Her eyes meet mine in an unspoken plea, so much emotion swirling in their dark-brown depths that my throat clogs, choking my words.

Taking her hands in mine, I squeeze, nodding. I know exactly what she’s asking and exactly what it will cost if we’re caught.

“Don’t tell anyone,” I whisper, even though it’s just us in the tiny room.

“We have six days to figure it out and we will.” It’s a promise and we both know it.

Someone pounds on our door. “Let’s go, Second Squad!”

Dain. Nine months ago, I would have relished this time away with him.

Now I find myself avoiding his constant expectations of me — or just avoiding him in general. Funny how much can change in such a short time.

We join the others, and Major Quade gives us the grand tour of the outpost. My stomach growls, but I ignore it, taking in the hectic energy of the base.

The fortress is basically four massive walls, filled with barracks and various chambers with turrets on each corner and a large, arched entrance that boasts a spiked portcullis that looks ready to drop at any second. On one end of the courtyard, there’s a stable with a blacksmith and armory for the company of infantry stationed here, and on the other is the dining hall.

“As you can see,” Major Quade tells us as we stand in the middle of the muddy courtyard, “we’re built for siege. In the event of attack, we can feed and house everyone within for an adequate amount of time.”

Adequate? Ridoc mouths, lifting his brows.

I press my lips together to keep from laughing, and Dain gives him a look that promises retribution from where he stands beside me. My smile falls away.

“As one of the eastern outposts, we have a full twelve riders stationed here. Three are out on patrol now, three wait, standing by in case they’re needed, and the other six are in various stages of rest,” Quade continues.

“What is that look for?” Dain whispers.

“What look?” I ask as the distinct roar of a dragon echoes off the stone walls.

“That should be one of our patrols returning now,” Quade says, smiling like he wants to mean it but can’t quite find the energy.

“The one where someone just sucked the joy out of your world,” Dain responds, bending his head slightly and keeping his voice low enough that only I can hear him.

I could lie to him, but that would make our semi-truce even more awkward. “I was just remembering the guy I used to climb trees with, that’s all.”

He startles like I’ve slapped him.

“So we’ll get you riders fed and put to bed, and then we’ll work on who you’ll be shadowing while you’re here,” Quade continues.

“Will we get to participate in any active scenarios?” Heaton asks, practically vibrating with excitement.

“Absolutely not!” Devera snaps.

“If you see combat, then I’ve failed as this being the safest place on the border to send you,” Quade answers. “But you get bonus points for enthusiasm. Let me guess. Third-year?”

Heaton nods.

Quade turns slightly and smiles at three indistinct figures in rider black as they walk under the portcullis. “There they are now. Why don’t you three come and meet—”

“Violet?”

My head whips toward the gate, and my heart combusts in a series of erratic beats that leaves me clutching my chest with the best kind of shock.

No way. There’s no way. I stumble for the gate, forgetting to be stoic, to be emotionally untouchable, as she breaks into a run, her arms opening just before we collide.

She sweeps me up, yanking me against her chest and squeezing tight. She smells like dirt and dragon and the coppery tang of blood, but I don’t care. I hug her back just as hard.

“Mira.” I bury my face against her shoulder, and my eyes burn as she rests her hand on top of the very braid she taught me how to do. It’s as if the weight of everything that’s happened over the last nine months comes crashing down, slamming into me with the force of a cross-bolt.

The wind of the parapet.

The look in Xaden’s eyes when he realized I was a Sorrengail.

The sound of Jack swearing he’d kill me.

The smell of burning flesh that first day.

The look on Aurelie’s face when she fell from the Gauntlet.

Pryor and Luca and Trina and…Tynan. Oren and Amber Mavis.

Tairn and Andarna choosing me.

Xaden kissing me.

Our mother ignoring me.

Mira pulls me back just long enough to look me over, as if she’s checking for damage. “You’re all right.” She nods, her teeth digging into her bottom lip. “You’re all right, aren’t you?”

I nod, but she blurs in my vision because I might be alive, thriving even, but I’m not the same person she left at the base of that turret, and from the heaviness in her eyes, she knows it, too.

“Yeah,” she whispers, tucking me in tight again. “You’re all right, Violet. You’re all right.”

If she says it enough times, I might start to believe her.

“Are you?” I jerk back to study her. There’s a new scar that stretches from her earlobe to her collarbone. “Gods, Mira.”

“I’m fine,” she promises, then grins. “And look at you! You didn’t die!”

Irrational, giddy laughter bubbles up. “I didn’t die! You’re not an only child!”

We both burst into laughter, and tears track down my cheeks.

“Sorrengails are weird,” I hear Imogen state.

“You have no idea,” Dain answers, but when I turn to look, his lips are curved into the first genuine smile I’ve seen from him in months.

“Shut up, Aetos,” Mira barks, throwing her arm over my shoulder. “Catch me up on everything, Violet.”

We might be hundreds of miles from Basgiath, but I’ve never felt more at home.

…

It’s early evening two days later, just after dinner, when Rhiannon and I climb out our first-story window and drop to the ground. Mira’s out on patrol, and as wonderful as it’s been to have her close, this is our only chance.

“We’re on our way.”

“Don’t get caught,” Tairn warns.

“Trying not to.” Rhiannon and I sneak along the battlement wall, turning the corner toward the field—

I run into Mira so hard that I bounce backward.

“Shit!” Rhiannon exclaims as she catches me.

“Don’t you at least check the corners?” Mira lectures, folding her arms over her chest and staring me down in a way I might deserve. Fine, I definitely deserve.

“In my defense, I didn’t think you’d be there,” I say slowly. “Because you’re supposed to be on patrol.”

“You were acting super weird at dinner.” She tilts her head to the side and studies me just like we’re kids again, seeing way too much. “So I switched shifts. Do you want to tell me what you’re doing outside the walls?”

I glance at Rhiannon, and she looks away.

“Neither of you? Really?” She sighs and rubs the bridge of her nose.

“You two need to sneak out of a heavily fortified defensive position because…?”

I look up at Rhiannon. “She’s going to figure it out anyway. She’s like a bloodhound with stuff like this. Trust me.” My stomach clenches.

Rhiannon tilts her chin. “We’re flying to my family’s house.”

Mira blanches. “You think you’re what?”

“We’re flying to her village. It’s like a five-minute flight, according to Tairn, and—” I start.

“Absolutely not.” Mira shakes her head. “Nope. You cannot fly off like you’re on vacation. What if something happens to you?”

“At her parents’ house?” I ask slowly. “Because there’s some major ambush planned on the off chance that we might just be dropping in?”

Mira’s eyes narrow.

Shit. This is not going well and, given the death grip Rhiannon has on my arm now, she doesn’t think so, either.

“We’d be in less danger visiting her parents than we are at Basgiath,” I argue.

Mira’s lips purse. “Fair point.”

“Come with us,” I blurt. “Seriously. Come with us, Mira. She just wants to see her sister.”

Mira’s shoulders dip. She’s softening, and I mercilessly go in for the kill.

“Raegan was pregnant when Rhiannon left. Can you imagine not being there with me if I had a kid? Wouldn’t you do anything, including escape a heavily fortified defensive position, if that meant holding your niece or nephew?” My nose scrunches as I brace for her answer. “Besides, with the hero of Strythmore at our side, what could possibly go wrong?”

“Don’t even start with that.” She looks at me, then Rhiannon, then back at me again before groaning. “Oh, fucking fine.” Her finger comes out swinging when we both grin. “But if you even think about telling anyone, I’ll make you regret it for the rest of your natural life.”

“She means it,” I whisper.

“I believe it,” Rhiannon answers.

“You’re here two days and already breaking the rules,” Mira mutters.

“Come on, it’s quicker to cut down this path.”

An hour later, Mira and I are stretched out on the cushioned benches that flank both sides of the dining table at Raegan’s house, watching Rhiannon rock her nephew by the fireplace, lost in conversation with her sister as her parents and brother-in-law look on from the nearby couch.

Watching them reunite is worth everything.

“Thank you for helping us.” I glance over the table at Mira.

“You would have done it with or without me.” Her smile is soft as she watches the family, curling her hand around the pewter mug of wine Rhiannon’s mom was kind enough to bring earlier. “Figured at least this way I’d know you’re safe. What other rules have you broken, sis?” She sips her wine and cuts a look my way.

A smirk tugs at my mouth as I lift one shoulder. “Maybe a few here and there. I’ve gotten very good at poisoning my opponents before challenges.”

Mira nearly spits out her wine, slamming her hand over her mouth.

I laugh, crossing one booted ankle over the other. “Not what you were expecting?”

Respect shines in her eyes. “I honestly don’t know what I expected. I was just desperate for you to live. And then you went and not only bonded one of the most powerful dragons alive but a feathertail, too.” She shakes her head. “My baby sister is a badass.”

“Not sure Mom would agree with that.” I rub my thumb over the handle of my mug. “I’m not exactly manifesting a signet yet. I’m solid at grounding and can hold a pretty strong shield, but…” I can’t tell her the rest, the gift Andarna has given, at least for now, to me. “If I don’t manifest my signet soon…”

We both know what will happen.

She quietly studies me in that way she has, then says, “Here’s the thing. If you want your signet to manifest, then stop blocking it by thinking it has anything to do with Mom. Your power is yours and yours alone, Vi.”

I squirm under her scrutiny and change the subject, my gaze dropping to her neck. “How did that happen?”

“Gryphon,” she answers, nodding. “Near the village of Cranston about seven months ago. Thing came out of nowhere in the middle of a village raid. The wards went down, and usually my signet gives me a little immunity from the enemy wielders, but not their fucking birds. Took the healers hours to stitch me up. But it gave me a pretty cool scar.” She tilts her chin to show it off.

“Cranston?” I think back over the Battle Briefs. “We never learned about that one. I…” Common sense tells me to shut my mouth.

“You what?” She takes another drink.

“I think there’s way more going on along the borders than what we’re told,” I admit quietly.

Mira lifts her brows. “Well, of course there is. You don’t expect Battle Brief to relay classified information, do you? You know better than that. And honestly, at the rate our borders are being attacked, they’d have to devote all day to Battle Brief in order to dissect each assault.”

“That makes sense. Do you guys get all the information?”

“Only what we need. Like, I could have sworn I saw a riot of dragons across the border during this attack.” She shrugs. “But questions about secret operations are above my pay grade. Think of it this way — if you were a healer, would you need to know the details about everyone else’s patients?”

I shake my head. “No.”

“Exactly. Now tell me, what the fuck is going on between you and Dain? I’ve seen less tension on a crossbow, and I don’t mean the good kind.” She gives me a look that leaves no room for excuses.

“I needed to change in order to survive. He wouldn’t let me.” It was the simplest explanation for the last nine months. “I got his friend Amber killed. She was a wingleader. And honestly, everything with Xaden just pushed us so far apart that I don’t know how to repair our friendship. Not to what it was, at least.”

“The execution of that wingleader is common knowledge. You didn’t get her killed. She got herself killed by breaking the Codex.” Mira studies me for a quiet moment. “Is it true Riorson saved you that night?”

I nod. “Xaden is a complicated subject.” So complicated that I can’t identify my own feelings. Thinking of him only jumbles me in a way that leaves me tangled in knots. I want him, but I can’t trust him, not in the ways I want to. And yet in other ways, he’s the person I trust most.

“I hope you know what you’re doing there.” Her grip tightens on her mug. “Because I distinctly remember warning you to steer clear of that traitor’s son.”

My stomach turns at Mira’s description of Xaden. “Tairn clearly didn’t heed the warning.”

She snorts.

“But really, if Xaden hadn’t shown up that night, or if I hadn’t been sleeping in the armor…” I pause and lean forward to touch her hand. “I can’t even begin to tell you how many times you’ve saved my life without even being there.”

Mira smiles. “Glad it worked. I swear it took an entire molting season to collect all those scales.”

“Have you thought of telling Mom about it? Getting them made for all riders?”

“I told my leadership.” She leans back and takes another drink. “They said they’re looking into it.”

We watch Rhiannon kiss her nephew’s perfect chubby cheeks. “I’ve never seen a family this happy,” I admit. “Even when Brennan and Dad were alive, we weren’t like…that.”

“No, we weren’t.” A sad smile curves her mouth as she looks at me. “But I can remember plenty of nights we spent curled around the fire with Dad and that book you love.”

“Ah yes, the book you made me leave in my old bedroom.” I arch a brow.

“You mean the book I snagged just in case Mom got a wild hair and decided to clean out your things while you were in the quadrant?” Her smile morphs into a grin. “I have it at Montserrat. Figured you’d be pissed if you graduated and it was gone. I mean, whatever would you do if you forgot a minute detail of how the gallant riders took out the army of wyvern and the venin who sucked the land dry of magic?”

I blink. “Shit. I can’t remember. But I guess I’ll be able to read it again soon!” A bubble of joy rises in my chest. “You are the best.”

“I’ll give it to you at the outpost.” She leans back and gives me a thoughtful look. “I know they’re just stories, but I never used to get why the villains would choose to corrupt their souls and become venin, and now…”

Her brow furrows.

“Now you empathize with the villain?” I tease.

“No.” She shakes her head. “But we have the kind of power people would kill for, Violet. Dragons and gryphons are the gatekeepers, and I’m sure that to someone jealous enough, ambitious enough, risking a soul would be a fair price for the ability to wield.” Her shoulders rise as she shrugs. “Just makes me glad our dragons are so discerning and our wards keep the gryphon riders at bay. Who the hell knows what kind of people those furry creatures choose?”

We stay another hour, until we know we’re risking exposure if we stay a minute longer. Then Mira and I give Rhiannon some privacy to say goodbye to her family and head out of the house into the humid night. Tairn has been uncharacteristically quiet the last couple of hours.

“Have you been stationed with any riders of mated pairs?” I ask Mira as I close the door behind us.

“One,” she answers, her eyes narrowing on the darkened path in front of the house. “Why?”

“I’m just wondering how long they can be separated.”

“Turns out, about three days is their max.” Xaden steps out of the shadows.

For valor above and beyond the call of duty in the battle of Strythmore, where her bravery resulted not only in the destruction of a battery behind enemy lines but also saved the lives of an entire company of infantry, I recommend Mira Sorrengail receive the Star of Navarre. But if the criterion is not met, which I assure you it has been, downgrading to the Order of the Talon would be a shame, but sufficient.

— RECOMMENDATION FOR AWARD FROM

MAJOR POTSDAM TO GENERAL SORRENGAIL