Page 150 of Fourth Wing

“It’s April,” I say, reaching for the next missive. “She’s working on next year’s budget.”

Everyone stops and turns to look at me, all wearing expressions of varying degrees of disbelief.

“What?” I shrug. “Did you think this place ran itself?”

“Keep looking,” Imogen orders.

I unfold the next missive.

General Sorrengail,

Protests regarding conscription laws are growing within the province of Tyrrendor. Knowing that due to Tyrrendor’s size, it provides the majority of our conscripts to replenish our front lines, we cannot afford to lose the support of the people again. Perhaps an influx of defensive spending on outposts here would not only bolster the province’s economy and remind the Tyrrish how needed they are to the defense of our kingdom, but also ease the unrest. Please consider this solution as an alternative to suppressing the unrest with force.

Sincerely,

Lieutenant Colonel Alyssa Travonte

What the hell? I close the letter and put it back on Mom’s desk, then turn to the giant map hanging on the wall directly above me.

Unrest isn’t new to Tyrrendor, nor is the sentiment against conscription, but we certainly haven’t heard any political rumblings in Battle Brief. Other than to quell discontent, it would make no sense to increase defensive spending there, especially since it holds our fewest number of outposts due to the natural barrier provided by the Cliffs of Dralor, which are unscalable by gryphons. Tyrrendor should already be one of the safest provinces on the Continent. Well, except Aretia. Where that capital should be, there is only a scorch mark, as though the burning of the city has singed the map as well.

I study the map for precious seconds, noting the battlement markers dotted along the countryside. Logically, there are more outposts along our more active border zones and, according to this map, more troops in those locations.

It shows all of Navarre, Krovla to the south, Braevick and Cygnisen to the southeast, and even the barriers of the Barrens, the ruined deserted lands at the southern tip of the Continent. It also shows each of our outposts and supply routes within Navarre.

A slow grin spreads across my face.

“Hey, Second Squad. I know what we need to steal.”

It takes a matter of minutes for us to haul the map down and cut it away from its frame, then another to roll it, securing it with leather ties Imogen pulls out of her satchel.

Liam whistles, and my heart nearly leaps out of my chest.

“Shit!” Ridoc races to the door and cracks it open as we all prepare to flee. “What’s going on out there?”

“He’s pounding at the hall door! It’s going to give any second. We have to gonow,” Liam whisper-shouts, holding the door open as we all race into the hallway. The map is too big for one person to carry, and Sawyer and Imogen struggle through the doorway as the guard kicks in the door farther down the hall.

My stomach hits the floor, and panic threatens to overwhelm logical thought.

“And we’re fucked,” Nadine announces.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” the guard shouts, charging toward us.

“We’re dead if he catches us with the map.” Ridoc bounces on his toes like he’s preparing to fight. On any given day, I’d argue that riders are the superior fighters—we have to be—but that Basgiath guard might just give us a run for our money.

“We can’t hurt him,” I protest.

The guard barrels past the first stairwell and Rhiannon steps into the middle of the hallway, her arms outstretched.

“Please work. Please work. Please work,” Imogen chants.

The map disappears out of her hands and reappears down the hallway in Rhiannon’s.

I barely have time to register that it worked as the guard stumbles, but he keeps running. Any closer and he’ll see my face.

“This was not part of the plan.” Liam moves to my side.

“Adapt! Emery!” Imogen hisses, and the third-year steps to the front of our little raiding party.

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