Page 93 of Fourth Wing

Relief courses through me. “Right?” I crack a smile. Thank gods he feels the same way. “And it doesn’t mean we’re not friends.”

“The best of friends,” he agrees, but his eyes are heavy with a sadness I don’t understand. “And it’s not that I don’t want you—”

“What?” My eyebrows rise. “What are you saying?” Are our wires somehow crossed?

“I’m saying the same thing you are.” Two lines appear between his brows. “It’s incredibly frowned upon to have a physical relationship with anyone in our chain of command.”

“Oh.” Yeah, that definitelyisn’twhat I’m saying.

“And you know how hard I’ve worked to be a squad leader. I’m determined to be a wingleader next year, and as much as you mean to me…” He shakes his head.

Oh. This is all about politics for him. “Right.” I nod slowly. “I get it.” It shouldn’t matter that the only reason he isn’t pursuing me is rank, and it honestly doesn’t. But it definitely makes me lose a little respect for him, which is something I never expected.

“And maybe next year, if you’re in a different wing, or even after graduation,” he starts, hope lighting up his eyes.

“Sorrengail, let’s go. I am not sitting around all night,” Imogen calls from the doorway, her arms folded across her chest. “If oursquad leaderis done with you, that is.”

Dain rears back, glancing between Imogen and me. “She’s training you?”

“She offered.” I shrug.

“Squad loyalty and all that. Blah, blah.” Imogen offers a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Don’t worry. I’ll take good care of her. Bye, Aetos.”

I toss Dain a quick smile and walk away, refusing to look over my shoulder to see if he’s still there. She quickly follows after me, then leads me toward the corner on the left where glass meets stone and pushes open a door I’ve never taken the time to notice before.

The room is lit with mage lights and full of a variety of wooden machinery with racks and ropes and pulleys, benches with levers, and bars attached to the wall.

And on the other side, doing push-ups on a mat, is one of the first-year Tyrs I saw in the woods that night, Garrick crouched down next to her, urging her on.

“Don’t worry, Sorrengail,” Imogen coos in a saccharine-sweet tone. “There’s only three of us in here. You’re perfectly safe.”

Garrick turns, his gaze meeting mine even as he continues calling off reps for the other first-year. He nods once, then goes back to his task.

“You’re the only one I worry about,” I say as she leads me to a machine with a polished wooden seat and two cushioned squares that meet in front of it at knee height.

She laughs, and I think it’s the first genuine sound I’ve heard her make. “Fair point. Since we can’t work that ankle of yours or your arms until they heal, we’re going to start with the most important muscles you have for staying on a dragon.” She glances down my body and sighs with obvious distaste. “Those weak-ass inner thighs.”

“You’re only doing this because Xaden is making you, right?” I ask, parking my ass in the seat of the machine with the cushioned wood between my knees as she makes adjustments.

Her eyes meet mine and narrow. “Rule number one. He’s Riorson to you,first-year, and you never get to question me about him. Ever.”

“That’s two rules.” I’m starting to think my first guess about them is right. With that kind of fierce loyalty, they have to be lovers.

I am not jealous. Nope. That pit of ugliness spreading inside my chest isn’t jealousy. It can’t be.

She scoffs and pulls a lever that puts immediate tension on the wood, and they rush outward, separating my thighs. “Now get to work. Push them back together. Thirty reps.”

There is nothing more sacred than the Archives. Even temples can be rebuilt, but books cannot be rewritten.

—Colonel Daxton’s Guide to Excelling in the Scribe Quadrant

CHAPTER

EIGHTEEN

The wooden library cart squeaks as I push it over the bridge that connects the Riders Quadrant to the Healer, and then past the clinic doors into the heart of Basgiath.

Mage lights illuminate my way down the tunnels as I take a path so familiar that I could walk it with my eyes shut. The scent of earth and stone fills my lungs the deeper I descend, and the stab of longing that’s hit me nearly every day for the past month since I was assigned to Archives duty isn’t quite as sharp as it was yesterday, and that wasn’t as sharp as the day before.

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