Page 218 of Fourth Wing

“Did you know?”

“I suspected. Why do you think I’ve been so hard on you during flight maneuvers?”

“You and I are going to have to work on our communication skills.”

“Guess we know all the details now,” Liam says.

“Anyone want to change their minds?” Xaden asks down the line. None of us answer.

“No? Then mount up.”

I walk toward Tairn’s shoulder as Xaden strides over to me.

“Turn around, Violence,” he orders, and I pivot, looking up at him. He unsheathes one of his daggers and slides it in the empty spot I have at my ribs. “Now you have two.”

“You’re not going to lecture me about staying safe in the outpost?” I ask, my emotions rioting at his nearness. He hid all of this from me, and yet my chest aches just looking at him.

“If I asked you to stay behind, would you?” His eyes bore into mine.

“No.”

“Exactly. I try not to pick fights I know I can’t win.”

My eyes flare. “Speaking of knowing you’ll win fights, General Melgren will know what’s happened here. He’ll be able to see the outcome of the battle even now.”

He shakes his head slowly and points to his neck, to the rebellion relic snaking around his throat. “Do you remember how I told you I realized it was a gift, not a curse?”

“Yes.” Back when I was in his bed.

“Just trust me—because of this, Melgren can’t see a fucking thing.”

My lips part, remembering Melgren saying he liked to lay eyes on Xaden once a year. “Any other secrets you’re keeping from me?”

“Yes.” He cups my neck and leans into my space. “Stay alive, and I promise I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

The simple confession makes my heart clench. As angry as I am, I can’t imagine a world without him in it. “I need you to survive this, even if I hate that I still love you.”

“I can live with that.” A corner of his mouth lifts as he drops his hand and turns away from me, heading toward Sgaeyl.

Tairn dips his shoulder again and I mount, settling into the saddle and strapping my thighs in after I secure my pack behind the seat. It’s time.“Find a good hiding place, Andarna. I can’t stand the thought of you being hurt.”

“Go for the throat,”she says, walking into the abandoned outpost.

Sgaeyl launches to my right, and I hold the pommels tight when Tairn springs skyward with great, heavy beats of his wings.

“There’s something in that trading post. We all feel it,”Tairn says as he banks with Sgaeyl, plummeting from the ridgeline into a steep dive that leaves my stomach behind. The saddle straps dig into my thighs, but they do their job and keep me seated as I lower my riding goggles to shield my eyes from the wind. We fly into the shade, the sun sinking behind the Cliffs of Dralor and throwing the afternoon into shadow.

Another explosion hits, this time taking out a chunk of the post’s high stone walls as Tairn pulls up, narrowly missing a gryphon rider and bringing us level across the post, flying too fast to hear anything more than the screams of townspeople as they run through the streets, fleeing for the exodus at the post gates.

“Where did the wyvern go?”I ask Tairn.

“Retreated into the valley. Don’t worry—it will come back.”

Oh. Joy.

My gaze sweeps the rooftops of the little post until I see it—him—whatever. There’s a figure standing at the top of a wooden clock tower, wearing purple floor-length robes that billow in the wind while he hurls blue flames like daggers at the civilians below.

He’s more terrifying than any illustrator could have depicted, rivers of red veins fanning in every direction around soulless eyes consumed by magic. His face is gaunt, with sharp cheekbones and thin lips, a gnarled hand gripping a long red cane made of some misshapen wood.

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