Page 7 of Fourth Wing

“General Sorrengail chose otherwise,” Mira supplies.

Sadness fills the older man’s eyes. “Pity. You had so much promise.”

“By the gods,” the rider next to Captain Fitzgibbons says. “You’re Mira Sorrengail?” His jaw drops, and I can smell his hero worship from here.

“I am.” She nods. “This is my sister, Violet. She’ll be a first-year.”

“If she survives the parapet.” Someone behind me snickers. “Wind just might blow her right off.”

“You fought at Strythmore,” the rider behind the desk says with awe. “They gave you the Order of the Talon for taking out that battery behind enemy lines.”

The snickering stops.

“As I was saying.” Mira puts a hand at the small of my back. “This is my sister, Violet.”

“You know the way.” The Captain nods and points to the open door into the turret. It looks ominously dark in there, and I fight the urge to run like hell.

“I know the way,” she assures him, leading me past the table so the snickering asshole behind me can sign the roll.

We pause at the doorway and turn toward each other.

“Don’t die, Violet. I’d hate to be an only child.” She grins and walks away, sauntering past the line of gawking candidates as word spreads of exactly who she is and what she’s done.

“Tough to live up to that,” the woman ahead of me says from just inside the tower.

“It is,” I agree, gripping the straps of my rucksack and heading into the darkness. My eyes adjust quickly to the dim light coming in through the equidistant windows along the curved staircase.

“Sorrengail as in…?” the woman asks, looking over her shoulder as we begin to climb the hundreds of stairs that lead to our possible deaths.

“Yep.” There’s no railing, so I keep my hand on the stone wall as we rise higher and higher.

“The general?” the blond guy ahead of us asks.

“The same one,” I answer, offering him a quick smile. Anyone whose mother holds on that tight can’t bethatbad, right?

“Wow. Nice leathers, too.” He smiles back.

“Thanks. They’re courtesy of my sister.”

“I wonder how many candidates have fallen off the edge of the steps and died before they even reach the parapet,” the woman says, glancing down the center of the staircase as we climb higher.

“Two last year.” I tilt my head when she glances back. “Well, three if you count the girl one of the guys landed on.”

The woman’s brown eyes flare, but she turns back around and keeps climbing. “How many steps are there?” she asks.

“Two hundred and fifty,” I answer, and we climb in silence for another five minutes.

“Not too bad,” she says with a bright smile as we near the top and the line comes to a halt. “I’m Rhiannon Matthias, by the way.”

“Dylan,” the blond guy responds with an enthusiastic wave.

“Violet.” I give them a tense smile of my own, blatantly ignoring Mira’s earlier suggestion that I avoid friendships and only forge alliances.

“I feel like I’ve been waiting my entire life for this day.” Dylan shifts his pack on his back. “Can you believe we actually get to do this? It’s a dream come true.”

Right. Naturally, every other candidate but me is excited to be here. This is the only quadrant at Basgiath that doesn’t accept conscripts—only volunteers.

“I can’t fucking wait.” Rhiannon’s smile widens. “I mean, who wouldn’t want to ride adragon?”

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