Chapter - 3 | Fourth Wing

If Jack wants to kill me, he needs to get in line. Besides, I have a feeling Xaden
Riorson is going to beat him to it.
“Not today,” I respond to Jack, the hilt of my dagger solid in my hand, and I
somehow manage to suppress a shudder as he leans over and breathes in. He’s
scenting me like a fucking dog. Then he scoﬀs and walks oﬀ into the crowd of
celebrating cadets and riders that’s gathered in the sizable courtyard of the
citadel.
It’s still early, probably around nine, but already I see there aren’t as many
cadets as there were candidates ahead of me in line. Based on the overwhelming
presence of leather, both the second- and third-years are here as well, taking
stock of the new cadets.
The rain eases into a drizzle, as if it had only come to make the hardest test
of my life even harder…but I did it.
I’m alive.
I made it.
My body begins to tremble, and a throbbing pain erupts in my left knee—the
one I slammed on the parapet. I take a step, and it threatens to give out on me. I
need to bind it before anyone notices.
“I think you made an enemy there,” the redhead says, casually shifting the
lethal crossbow she wears strapped along her shoulder. She glances at me over
the scroll with a shrewd look in her hazel eyes as she looks me up and down.
“I’d watch your back with that one if I were you.”
I nod. I’m going to have to watch my back and every other part of my body.
The next candidate approaches from the parapet as someone grips my

shoulders from behind and spins me.
My dagger is halfway up when I realize it’s Rhiannon.
“We made it!” She grins, giving my shoulders a squeeze.
“We made it,” I repeat with a forced smile. My thighs are shaking now, but I
manage to sheath my dagger at my ribs. Now that we’re here, both cadets, can I
trust her?
“I can’t thank you enough. There were at least three times I would have
fallen oﬀ if you hadn’t helped me. You were right—those soles were slick as shit.
Have you seen the people around here? I swear I just saw a second-year with
pink streaks in her hair, and one guy has dragon scales tattooed up his entire
biceps.”
“Conformity is for the infantry,” I say as she loops her arm through mine and
tugs me along toward the crowd. My knee screams, pain radiating up to my hip
and down to my foot, and I limp, my weight falling into Rhiannon’s side.
Damn it.
Where did this nausea come from? Why can’t I stop shaking? I’m going to
fall any second now—there’s no way my body can remain upright with this
earthquake in my legs or the whirring in my head.
“Speaking of which,” she says, glancing down. “We need to trade boots.
There’s a bench—”
A tall ﬁgure in a pristine black uniform steps out of the crowd, charging
toward us, and though Rhiannon manages to dodge, I stumble smack into his
chest.
“Violet?” Strong hands catch my elbows to steady me, and I look up into a
pair of familiar, striking brown eyes, ﬂared wide in obvious shock.
Relief sweeps through me, and I try to smile, but it probably comes out like a
distorted grimace. He seems taller than he was last summer, the beard that cuts
across his jaw is new, and he’s ﬁlled out in a way that makes me blink…or
maybe that’s just my vision going hazy at the edges. The beautiful, easygoing
smile that’s starred in way too many of my fantasies is far from the scowl that
purses his mouth, and everything about him seems a little…harder, but it works
for him. The line of his chin, the set of his brow, even the muscles of his biceps
are rigid under my ﬁngers as I try to ﬁnd my balance. Sometime in the last year,
Dain Aetos went from attractive and cute to gorgeous.
And I’m about to be sick all over his boots.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he barks, the shock in his eyes
transforming to something foreign, something deadly. This isn’t the same boy I
grew up with. He’s a second-year rider now.

“Dain. It’s good to see you.” That’s an understatement, but the trembles turn
to full-on shakes, and bile creeps up my throat, dizziness only making the nausea
worse. My knees give out.
“Damn it, Violet,” he mutters, hauling me back to my feet. With one hand on
my back and the other under my elbow, he quickly guides me away from the
crowd and into an alcove in the wall, close to the ﬁrst defensive turret of the
citadel. It’s a shady, hidden spot with a hard wooden bench, which he sits me
on, then helps me out of my rucksack.
Spit ﬂoods my mouth. “I’m going to be sick.”
“Head between your knees,” Dain orders in a harsh tone I’m not used to from
him, but I do it. He rubs circles on my lower back as I breathe in through my
nose and out through my mouth. “It’s the adrenaline. Give it a minute and it’ll
pass.” I hear approaching footsteps on the gravel. “Who the hell are you?”
“I’m Rhiannon. I’m Violet’s…friend.”
I stare at the gravel under my mismatched boots and will the meager
contents of my stomach to stay put.
“Listen to me, Rhiannon. Violet is ﬁne,” he commands. “And if anyone asks,
then you tell them exactly what I said, that it’s just the adrenaline working out
of her system. Understand?”
“It’s no one’s business what’s going on with Violet,” she retorts, her tone just
as sharp as his. “So I wouldn’t say shit. Especially not when she’s the reason I
made it across the parapet.”
“You’d better mean that,” he warns, the bite in his voice at odds with the
ceaseless, comforting circles he makes on my back.
“I could ask you just who the hell you are,” she retorts.
“He’s one of my oldest friends.” The trembles slowly subside, and the nausea
wanes, but I’m not sure if it’s from timing or my position, so I keep my head
between my knees while I manage to unlace my left boot.
“Oh,” Rhiannon answers.
“And a second-year rider, cadet,” he growls.
Gravel crunches, like Rhiannon has backed up a step.
“No one can see you here, Vi, so take your time,” Dain says softly.
“Because puking my guts up after surviving the parapet and the asshole who
wanted to throw me oﬀ it would be considered weak.” I rise slowly, sitting
upright.
“Exactly,” he answers. “Are you hurt?” His gaze rakes over me with a
desperate edge, like he needs to see every inch for himself.
“My knee is sore,” I admit in a whisper, because it’s Dain. Dain, whom I’ve

known since we were ﬁve and six. Dain, whose father is one of my mother’s
most trusted advisers. Dain, who held me together when Mira left for the Riders
Quadrant and again when Brennan died.
He takes my chin between his thumb and foreﬁnger, turning my face left and
right for his inspection. “That’s all? You’re sure?” His hands run down my sides
and pause at my ribs. “Are you wearing daggers?”
Rhiannon takes my boot oﬀ and sighs in relief, wiggling her toes.
I nod. “Three at my ribs and one in my boot.” Thank gods, or I’m not sure I’d
be sitting here right now.
“Huh.” He drops his hands and looks at me like he’s never seen me before,
like I’m a complete stranger, but then he blinks and it’s gone. “Get your boots
switched. You two look ridiculous. Vi, do you trust this one?” He nods toward
Rhiannon.
She could have waited for me at the security of the citadel walls and thrown
me oﬀ just like Jack tried to do, but she didn’t.
I nod. I trust her as much as anyone can trust another ﬁrst-year around here.
“All right.” He stands and turns toward her. There are sheaths at the sides of
his leathers, too, but there are daggers in each of them, where mine are still
empty. “I’m Dain Aetos, and I’m the leader for Second Squad, Flame Section,
Second Wing.”
Squad leader? My brows jump. The highest ranks among the cadets in the
quadrant are wingleader and section leader. Both positions are held by elite
third-years. Second-years can rise to squad leaders, but only if they’re
exceptional. Everyone else is simply a cadet before Threshing—when the
dragons choose who they will bond—and a rider after. People die too often
around here to hand out ranks prematurely.
“Parapet should be over in the next couple of hours, depending on how fast
the candidates cross or fall. Go ﬁnd the redhead with the roll—she’s usually
carrying a crossbow—and tell her that Dain Aetos put both you and Violet
Sorrengail into his squad. If she questions you, tell her she owes me from saving
her ass at Threshing last year. I’ll bring Violet back to the courtyard shortly.”
Rhiannon glances at me, and I nod.
“Go before someone sees us,” Dain barks.
“Going,” she answers, shoving her foot into her boot and lacing it quickly as
I do the same with mine.
“You crossed the parapet with an equestrian boot too big for you?” Dain
asks, glaring down at me with incredulity.
“She would have died without trading mine.” I stand and wince as my knee

objects and tries to buckle.
“And you’re going to die if we don’t ﬁnd you a way out of here.” He oﬀers
his arm. “Take it. We need to get you to my room. You need to wrap that knee.”
His eyebrows rise. “Unless you found some miracle cure I don’t know about in
the last year?”
I shake my head and take his arm.
“Damn it, Violet. Damn it.” He tucks mine discreetly against his side, grabs
my rucksack with his empty hand, then leads me into a tunnel at the end of the
alcove in the outer wall I hadn’t even seen. Mage lights ﬂicker on in the sconces
as we pass and extinguish after we go by. “You’re not supposed to be here.”
“Well aware.” I let myself limp a little, since no one can see us now.
“You’re supposed to be in the Scribe Quadrant,” he seethes, leading me
through the tunnel in the wall. “What the hell happened? Please tell me you did
not volunteer for the Riders Quadrant.”
“What do you think happened?” I challenge as we reach a wrought-iron gate
that looks like it was built to keep out a troll…or a dragon.
He curses. “Your mother.”
“My mother.” I nod. “Every Sorrengail is a rider, don’t you know?”
We make it to a set of circular steps, and Dain leads me up past the ﬁrst and
second ﬂoor, stopping us on the third and pushing open another gate that creaks
with the sound of metal on metal.
“This is the second-year ﬂoor,” he explains quietly. “Which means—”
“I’m not supposed to be up here, obviously.” I tuck in a little closer. “Don’t
worry—if someone sees us, I’ll just say that I was overcome with lust at ﬁrst
sight and couldn’t wait another second to get you out of your pants.”
“Ever the smart-ass.” A wry smile tugs at his lips as we start down the hall.
“I can throw in a few oh, Dain cries once we’re in your room just for
believability,” I oﬀer, and actually mean it.
He snorts as he drops my pack in front of a wooden door, then makes a
twisting motion with his hand in front of the handle. A lock audibly clicks.
“You have powers,” I say.
It’s not news, of course. He’s a second-year rider, and all riders can perform
lesser magics once their dragons choose to channel their power…but it’s…Dain.
“Don’t look so surprised.” He rolls his eyes and opens the door, carrying my
pack as he helps me inside.
His room is simple, with a bed, dresser, desk, and wardrobe. There’s nothing
personal about it other than a few books on his desk. I note with a tiny burst of
satisfaction that one is the tome on the Krovlan language that I gave him before

he left last summer. He’s always had a gift for languages. Even the blanket on
his bed is simple, rider black, as if he might forget why he’s here while sleeping.
The window is arched, and I move toward it. I can see the rest of Basgiath across
the ravine through the clear glass.
It’s the same war college and yet an entire world away. There are two more
candidates on the parapet, but I look away before I can feel invested just to
watch them fall. There is only so much death one person can take in a day, and
I’m at my fucking maximum.
“Do you have wraps in here?” He hands me the rucksack.
“Got them all from Major Gillstead,” I answer with a nod, plopping down on
the edge of his expertly made bed and starting to dig through my pack. Luckily
for me, Mira is an inﬁnitely better packer than I am, and the wraps are easy to
spot.
“Make yourself at home.” He grins, leaning back against the closed door and
hooking one ankle over the other. “As much as I hate that you’re here, I have to
say it’s more than nice to see your face, Vi.”
I look up, and our eyes meet. The tension that’s been in my chest for the last
week—hell, the last six months—eases, and for a second, it’s just us. “I’ve missed
you.” Maybe it’s exposing a weakness, but I don’t care. Dain knows almost
everything there is to know about me anyway.
“Yeah. I’ve missed you, too,” he says quietly, his eyes softening.
My chest draws tight, and there’s an awareness between us, an almost
tangible sense of…anticipation as he looks at me. Maybe after all these years,
we’re ﬁnally on the same page when it comes to wanting each other. Or maybe
he’s just relieved to see an old friend.
“You’d better get that leg wrapped.” He turns around to face the door. “I
won’t look.”
“It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.” I arch my hips and shimmy my
leather pants down past my thighs and over my knees. Shit. The one on the left
is swollen. If anyone else had taken that stumble, they would have ended up
with a bruise, maybe even a scrape. But me? I have to ﬁx it so my kneecap stays
where it’s supposed to. It’s not just my muscles that are weak. My ligaments that
hold my joints together don’t work for shit, either.
“Yeah, well, we’re not sneaking away to swim in the river, are we?” he
teases. We grew up together through every post our parents had been stationed
at, and no matter where we were, we always managed to ﬁnd a place to swim
and trees to climb.
I fasten the wrap at the top of my knee, then wind and secure the joint in the

same way I’ve done since I was old enough for the healers to teach me. It’s a
practiced motion that I could do in my sleep, and the familiarity of it is almost
soothing, if it didn’t mean I was starting in the quadrant wounded.
As soon as I get it fastened with the little metal clasp, I stand and tug my
leathers back up over my ass and button them. “All covered.”
He turns and glances over me. “You look…diﬀerent.”
“It’s the leathers.” I shrug. “Why? Is diﬀerent bad?” It takes a second to close
my rucksack and haul it up and over my shoulders. Thank you, gods, the ache in
my knee is manageable with it bound like this.
“It’s just…” He shakes his head slowly, teasing his lower lip with his teeth.
“Diﬀerent.”
“Why, Dain Aetos.” I grin and walk toward him, then grasp the door handle
at his side. “You’ve seen me in swimwear, tunics, and even ballgowns. Are you
telling me it’s the leather that does it for you?”
He scoﬀs, but there’s a slight ﬂush to his cheeks as his hand covers mine to
open the door. “Glad to see our year apart hasn’t dulled your tongue, Vi.”
“Oh,” I toss over my shoulder as we walk into the hallway, “I can do quite a
few things with my tongue. You’d be impressed.” My smile is so wide that it
almost hurts, and just for a second, I forget that we’re in the Riders Quadrant or
that I’ve just survived the parapet.
His eyes heat. Guess he’s forgotten, too. Then again, Mira’s always made it
clear that riders aren’t an inhibited bunch behind these walls. There’s not much
reason to deny yourself when you might not live through tomorrow.
“We have to get you out of here,” he says, shaking his head like he needs to
clear it. Then he does the hand thing again, and I hear the lock slide into place.
There’s no one in the hallway, and we make it to the stairwell quickly.
“Thanks,” I say as we start descending. “My knee feels way better now.”
“I still can’t believe your mother thought putting you into the Riders
Quadrant was a good idea.” I can practically feel the anger vibrating oﬀ him
next to me as we walk down the stairs. There’s no banister on his side, but he
doesn’t seem to mind, even though a single misstep would be the end of him.
“Me neither. She announced her decree about which quadrant I’d choose last
spring, after I passed the initial entrance exam, and I immediately started
working with Major Gillstead.” He’ll be so proud when he reads the rolls
tomorrow and sees that I’m not on them.
“There’s a door at the bottom of this stairwell, below the main level, that
leads to the passage into the Healers Quadrant farther up the ravine,” he says as
we approach the ﬁrst ﬂoor. “We’ll get you through that and into the Scribe

Quadrant.”
“What?” I stop as my feet hit the polished stone landing at the main ﬂoor,
but he continues downward.
He’s already three steps beneath me when he realizes I’m not with him. “The
Scribe Quadrant,” he says slowly, turning to face me.
This angle makes me taller than he is, and I glare down at him. “I can’t go to
the Scribe Quadrant, Dain.”
“I’m sorry?” His eyebrows ﬂy up.
“She won’t stand for it.” I shake my head.
His mouth opens, then shuts, and his ﬁsts clench at his sides. “This place will
kill you, Violet. You can’t stay here. Everyone will understand. You didn’t
volunteer—not really.”
Anger bristles up my spine, and my gaze narrows on him. Ignoring who did
or did not volunteer me, I snap, “One, I’m well aware of what my chances are
here, Dain, and two, usually ﬁfteen percent of candidates don’t make it past the
parapet, and I’m still standing, so I guess I’m beating those odds already.”
He backs up another step. “I’m not saying you didn’t just kick absolute ass by
getting here, Vi. But you have to leave. You’ll break the ﬁrst time they put you
in the sparring ring, and that’s before the dragons sense that you’re…” He shakes
his head and looks away, his jaw clenching.
“I’m what?” My hackles rise. “Go ahead and say it. When they sense I’m less
than the others? Is that what you mean?”
“Damn it.” He rakes his hand over his close-cropped light-brown curls. “Stop
putting words in my mouth. You know what I mean. Even if you survive to
Threshing, there’s no guarantee a dragon will bond you. As it was, last year we
had thirty-four unbonded cadets who have just been sitting around, waiting to
restart the year with this class to get a chance at bonding again, and they’re all
perfectly healthy—”
“Don’t be an asshole.” My stomach falls. Just because he might be right
doesn’t mean I want to hear it…or want to be called unhealthy.
“I’m trying to keep you alive!” he shouts, his voice echoing oﬀ the stone of
the stairwell. “If we get you to the Scribe Quadrant right now, you can still ace
their test and have a phenomenal story to tell when you’re out drinking. I take
you back out there”—he points to the doorway that leads to the courtyard—“it’s
out of my hands. I can’t protect you here. Not fully.”
“I’m not asking you to!” Wait…didn’t I want him to? Wasn’t that what Mira
suggested? “Why would you tell Rhiannon to put me in your squad if you just
wanted to sneak me out the back door?”

The vise around my chest squeezes tighter. Next to Mira, Dain is the person
who knows me best on the entire damned Continent, and even he thinks I can’t
hack it here.
“To make her leave so I could get you out!” He climbs two steps, shortening
the distance between us, but there’s no give in the set of his shoulders. If
determination had a physical form, it would be Dain Aetos right now. “Do you
think I want to watch my best friend die? Do you think it’ll be fun to see what
they’ll do to you, knowing you’re General Sorrengail’s daughter? Putting on
leathers doesn’t make you a rider, Vi. They’re going to tear you to shreds, and if
they don’t, the dragons will. In the Riders Quadrant, you either graduate or die,
and you know that. Let me save you.” His entire posture droops, and the plea in
his eyes shreds some of my indignation. “Please let me save you.”
“You can’t,” I whisper. “She said she’d haul me right back. I either leave here
as a rider or as a name on a stone.”
“She didn’t mean it.” He shakes his head. “She can’t mean that.”
“She means it. Even Mira couldn’t talk her out of it.”
He searches my eyes and tenses, as if he sees the truth of it there. “Shit.”
“Yeah. Shit.” I shrug, like it’s not my life we’re talking about here.
“All right.” I can see him mentally changing gears, adapting to the
information. “We’ll ﬁnd another way. For now, let’s go.” He takes my hand and
leads me to the alcove we disappeared from. “Get out there and meet the other
ﬁrst-years. I’ll go back and enter from the turret doorway. They’ll ﬁgure out we
know each other soon enough, but don’t give anyone ammunition.” He squeezes
my hand and lets go, walking away without another word and disappearing into
the tunnel.
I grip the straps of my rucksack and walk into the dappled sunlight of the
courtyard. The clouds are breaking, and the drizzle is burning oﬀ as the gravel
crunches beneath my feet on my way toward the riders and cadets.
The massive courtyard, which could easily ﬁt a thousand riders, is just like
the map in the archives recorded. Shaped like an angular teardrop, the rounded
end is formed by a giant outer wall at least ten feet thick. Along the sides are
stone halls. I know the four-story building carved into the mountain with the
rounded end is for academics, and the one on the right, towering over the cliﬀ,
is the dorms, where Dain took me. The imposing rotunda linking the two
buildings also serves as the entrance to the gathering hall, commons, and library
behind it. I quit gawking and turn in the courtyard to face the outer wall.
There’s a stone dais on the right side of the parapet, occupied by two uniformed
men I recognize as the commandant and executive commandant, both in full

military dress, their medals winking in the sunlight.
It takes me a few minutes to ﬁnd Rhiannon in the growing crowd, talking to
another girl whose jet-black hair is cut just as short as Dain’s.
“There you are!” Rhiannon’s smile is genuine and full of relief. “I was
worried. Is everything…” She lifts her eyebrows.
“I’m good to go.” I nod and turn toward the other woman as Rhiannon
introduces us. Her name is Tara, and she’s from the Morraine province to the
north, along the coast of the Emerald Sea. She has that same air of conﬁdence
Mira does, and her eyes dance with excitement as she and Rhiannon talk about
how they’ve both obsessed over dragons since childhood. I pay attention but
only enough to recall details if we need to form an alliance.
An hour passes, then another, according to the Basgiath bells, which we can
hear from here. Then the last of the cadets walks into the courtyard, followed by
the three riders from the other turret.
Xaden is among them. It’s not just his height that makes him stand out in
this crowd but the way the other riders all seem to move around him, like he’s a
shark and they’re all ﬁsh giving him a wide berth. For a second, I can’t help but
wonder what his signet is, the unique power from the bond with his dragon, and
if that’s why even the third-years seem to scurry out of his way as he strides up
to the dais with lethal grace. There are ten of them in total up there now, and
from the way Commandant Panchek moves to the front, facing us—
“I think we’re about to start,” I say to Rhiannon and Tara, and they both turn
to face the dais. Everyone does.
“Three hundred and one of you have survived the parapet to become cadets
today,” Commandant Panchek starts with a politician’s smile, gesturing to us.
The guy has always talked with his hands. “Good job. Sixty-seven did not.”
My chest clenches as my brain spins the calculation quickly. Almost twenty
percent. Was it the rain? The wind? That’s more than average. Sixty-seven people
died trying to get here.
“I’ve heard this position is just a stepping stone for him,” Tara whispers. “He
wants Sorrengail’s job, then General Melgren’s.”
The commanding general of all Navarre’s forces. Melgren’s beady eyes have
always made me shrivel every time we’ve met during my mother’s career.
“General Melgren’s?” Rhiannon whispers from my other side.
“He’ll never get it,” I say quietly as the commandant welcomes us to the
Riders Quadrant. “Melgren’s dragon gives him the signet ability to see a battle’s
outcome before it happens. There’s no beating that, and you can’t be
assassinated if you know it’s coming.”

“As the Codex says, now you begin the true crucible!” Panchek shouts, his
voice carrying over the ﬁve hundred of us that I estimate are in this courtyard.
“You will be tested by your superiors, hunted by your peers, and guided by your
instincts. If you survive to Threshing, and if you are chosen, you will be riders.
Then we’ll see how many of you make it to graduation.”
Statistics say about a quarter of us will live to graduate, give or take a few
on any year, and yet the Riders Quadrant is never short volunteers. Every cadet
in this courtyard thinks they have what it takes to be one of the elite, the very
best Navarre has to oﬀer…a dragon rider. I can’t help but wonder for the
smallest of seconds if maybe I do, too. Maybe I can do more than just survive.
“Your instructors will teach you,” Panchek promises, his hand sweeping to
the line of professors standing at the doors to the academic wing. “It’s up to you
how well you learn.” He swings his pointer ﬁnger at us. “Discipline falls to your
units, and your wingleader is the last word. If I have to get involved…” A slow,
sinister smile spreads across his face. “You don’t want me involved.
“With that said, I’ll leave you to your wingleaders. My best advice? Don’t
die.” He walks oﬀ the dais with the executive commandant, leaving only the
riders on the stone stage.
A brunette woman with wide shoulders and a scarred sneer stalks forward,
the silver spikes on the shoulders of her uniform ﬂashing in the sunlight. “I’m
Nyra, the senior wingleader of the quadrant and the head of the First Wing.
Section leaders and squad leaders, take your positions now.”
My shoulder is jostled as someone walks by, pushing between Rhiannon and
me. Others follow suit until there are about ﬁfty people in front of us, spaced out
in formation.
“Sections and squads,” I whisper to Rhiannon, in case she didn’t grow up in a
military family. “Three squads in each section and three sections in each of the
four wings.”
“Thank you,” Rhiannon answers.
Dain stands in the section for Second Wing, facing me but averting his eyes.
“First Squad! Claw Section! First Wing!” Nyra calls out.
A man closer to the dais raises his hand.
“Cadets, when your name is called, take up formation behind your squad
leader,” Nyra instructs.
The redhead with the crossbow and roll steps forward and begins calling
names. One by one, cadets move from the crowd to the formation, and I keep
count, making snap judgments based oﬀ clothing and arrogance. It looks like
each squad will have about ﬁfteen or sixteen people in it.

Jack is called into the Flame Section of First Wing.
Tara is called into the Tail Section, and soon they start on Second Wing.
I let loose a thankful sigh when the wingleader steps forward and it isn’t
Xaden.
Rhiannon and I are both called to Second Squad, Flame Section, Second
Wing. We get into formation quickly, lining up in a square. A quick glance tells
me that we have a squad leader—Dain, who isn’t looking at me—a female
executive squad leader, four riders who look like they might be second- or third-
years, and nine ﬁrst-years. One of the riders with two stars on her uniform and
half-shaved, half-pink hair has a rebellion relic that winds around her forearm,
from her wrist to above her elbow, where it disappears under her uniform, but I
look away so she won’t catch me staring.
We’re silent as the rest of the wings are called. The sun is out in full now,
beating into my leathers and scorching my skin. I told him not to keep you in that
library. Mom’s words from this morning haunt me, but it’s not like I could have
prepared for this. I have exactly two shades when it comes to the sun, pale and
burned.
When the order sounds, we all turn to face the dais. I try to keep my gaze on
the roll-keeper, but my eyes jerk right like the traitors they are, and my pulse
leaps.
Xaden watches me with a cold, calculating look that feels like he’s plotting
my death from where he stands as the wingleader for Fourth Wing.
I lift my chin.
He cocks his scarred eyebrow. Then he says something to Second Wing’s
wingleader, and then every wingleader joins in on what’s obviously a heated
discussion.
“What do you think they’re talking about?” Rhiannon whispers.
“Quiet,” Dain hisses.
My spine stiﬀens. I can’t expect him to be my Dain here, not under these
circumstances, but still, the tone is jarring.
Finally, the wingleaders turn around to face us, and the slight tilt to Xaden’s
lips makes me instantly queasy.
“Dain Aetos, you and your squad will switch with Aura Beinhaven’s,” Nyra
orders.
Wait. What? Who is Aura Beinhaven?
Dain nods, then turns to us. “Follow me.” He says it once, then strides
through formation, leaving us to scurry after him. We pass another squad on the
way from…from…

The very breath freezes in my lungs.
We’re moving to Fourth Wing. Xaden’s wing.
It takes a minute, maybe two, and we take our place in the new formation. I
force myself to breathe. There’s a fucking smirk on Xaden’s arrogant, handsome
face.
I’m now entirely at his mercy, a subordinate in his chain of command. He
can punish me however he likes for the slightest infraction, even imaginary
ones.
Nyra looks at Xaden as she ﬁnishes assignments, and he nods, stepping
forward and ﬁnally breaking our staring contest. I’m pretty sure he won,
considering my heart is galloping like a runaway horse.
“You’re all cadets now.” Xaden’s voice carries out over the courtyard,
stronger than the others. “Take a look at your squad. These are the only people
guaranteed by Codex not to kill you. But just because they can’t end your life
doesn’t mean others won’t. You want a dragon? Earn one.”
Most of the others cheer, but I keep my mouth shut.
Sixty-seven people fell or died in some other way today. Sixty-seven just like
Dylan, whose parents would either collect their bodies or watch them be buried
at the foot of the mountain under a simple stone. I can’t force myself to cheer for
their loss.
Xaden’s eyes ﬁnd mine, and my stomach clenches before he looks away.
“And I bet you feel pretty badass right now, don’t you, ﬁrst-years?”
More cheers.
“You feel invincible after the parapet, don’t you?” Xaden shouts. “You think
you’re untouchable! You’re on the way to becoming the elite! The few! The
chosen!”
Another round of cheers goes up with each declaration, louder and louder.
No. That’s not just cheering, it’s the sound of wings beating the air into
submission.
“Oh gods, they’re beautiful,” Rhiannon whispers at my side as they come
into view—a riot of dragons.
I’ve spent my life around dragons, but always from a distance. They don’t
tolerate humans they haven’t chosen. But these eight? They’re ﬂying straight for
us—at speed.
Just when I think they’re about to ﬂy overhead, they pitch vertically, whip
the air with their huge semitranslucent wings, and stop, the gusts of wing-made
wind so powerful that I nearly stagger backward as they land on the outer
semicircular wall. Their chest scales ripple with movement, and their razor-

sharp talons dig into the edge of the wall on either side. Now I understand why
the walls are ten feet thick. It’s not a barrier. The edge of the fortress is a
damned perch.
My mouth drops open. In my ﬁve years of living here, I’ve never seen this,
but then again, I’ve never been allowed to watch what happens on Conscription
Day.
A few cadets scream.
Guess everyone wants to be a dragon rider until they’re actually twenty feet
away from one.
Steam blasts my face as the navy-blue one directly in front of me exhales
through its wide nostrils. Its glistening blue horns rise above its head in an
elegant, lethal sweep, and its wings ﬂare momentarily before tucking in, the tip
of their top joint crowned by a single ﬁerce talon. Their tails are just as fatal, but
I can’t see them at this angle or even tell which breed of dragon each is without
that clue.
All are deadly.
“We’re going to have to bring the masons in again,” Dain mutters as chunks
of rock crumble under the dragons’ grips, crashing to the courtyard in boulders
the size of my torso.
There are three dragons in various shades of red, two shades of green—like
Teine, Mira’s dragon—one brown like Mom’s, one orange, and the enormous
navy one ahead of me. They’re all massive, overshadowing the structure of the
citadel as they narrow their golden eyes at us in absolute judgment.
If they didn’t need us puny humans to develop signet abilities from bonding
and weave the protective wards they power around Navarre, I’m pretty sure
they’d eat us all and be done. But they like protecting the Vale—the valley
behind Basgiath the dragons call home—from merciless gryphons and we like
living, so here we are in the most unlikely of partnerships.
My heart threatens to beat out of my chest, and I absolutely agree with it,
because I’d like to run, too. Just thinking that I’m supposed to ride one of these
is fucking ludicrous.
A cadet bolts out of Third Wing, screaming as he makes a run for the stone
keep behind us. We all turn to look as he sprints for the giant arched door at the
center. I can almost see the words carved into the arch from here, but I already
know them by heart. A dragon without its rider is a tragedy. A rider without their
dragon is dead.
Once bonded, riders can’t live without their dragons, but most dragons can
live just ﬁne after us. It’s why they choose carefully, so they’re not humiliated by

picking a coward, not that a dragon would ever admit to making a mistake.
The red dragon on the left opens its vast mouth, revealing teeth as big as I
am. That jaw could crush me if it wanted, like a grape. Fire erupts along its
tongue, then shoots outward in a macabre blaze toward the ﬂeeing cadet.
He’s a pile of ash on the gravel before he can even make it to the shadow of
the keep.
Sixty-eight dead.
Heat from the ﬂames blasts the side of my face as I jerk my attention
forward. If anyone else runs and is likewise executed, I don’t want to see it.
More screaming sounds around me. I lock my jaw as hard as I can to keep quiet.
There are two more gusts of heat, one to my left and then another to my
right.
Make that seventy.
The navy dragon seems to tilt its head at me, as if its narrowed golden eyes
can see straight through me to the fear ﬁsting my stomach and the doubt curled
insidiously around my heart. I bet it can even see the wrap binding my knee. It
knows I’m at a disadvantage, that I’m too small to climb its foreleg and mount,
too frail to ride. Dragons always know.
But I will not run. I wouldn’t be standing here if I’d quit every time
something seemed impossible to overcome. I will not die today. The words repeat
in my head just like they had before the parapet and on it.
I force my shoulders back and lift my chin.
The dragon blinks, which might be a sign of approval, or boredom, and looks
away.
“Anyone else feel like changing their mind?” Xaden shouts, scanning the
remaining rows of cadets with the same shrewd gaze of the navy-blue dragon
behind him. “No? Excellent. Roughly half of you will be dead by this time next
summer.” The formation is silent except for a few untimely sobs from my left. “A
third of you again the year after that, and the same your last year. No one cares
who your mommy or daddy is here. Even King Tauri’s second son died during
his Threshing. So tell me again: Do you feel invincible now that you’ve made it
into the Riders Quadrant? Untouchable? Elite?”
No one cheers.
Another blast of heat rushes—this time directly at my face—and every
muscle in my body clenches, preparing for incineration. But it’s not ﬂames…just
steam, and it blows back Rhiannon’s braids as the dragons ﬁnish their
simultaneous exhale. The breeches on the ﬁrst-year ahead of me darken, the
color spreading down his legs.

They want us scared. Mission accomplished.
“Because you’re not untouchable or special to them.” Xaden points toward
the navy dragon and leans forward slightly, like he’s letting us in on a secret as
we lock eyes. “To them, you’re just the prey.”

The sparring ring is where riders are made or broken. After all, no
respectable dragon would choose a rider who cannot defend
themselves, and no respectable cadet would allow such a threat to
the wing to continue training.
—Major Afendra’s Guide to the Riders Quadrant
(Unauthorized Edition)