Page 111 - Fourth Wing

Only crickets dare to break the silence.

“Now, someone give me a problem I can actually solve,” Xaden orders.
“Battle Brief,” a first-year I recognize says softly. Her bunk is only a row

away from Rhiannon’s and mine. Shit…what’s her name? There are too

many women in the hall to know everyone, but I’m certain she’s in Third
Wing. “It’s not that I can’t keep up, but the information…” She shrugs.

“That’s a tough one,” Imogen responds, turning to look at Xaden. Her

profile in the moonlight is almost unrecognizable as the same person who
shredded my shoulder. That Imogen is cruel, vicious even. But the way

she’s looking at Xaden softens her eyes, her mouth, her whole posture as

she tucks a short strand of pink hair behind her ear.
“You learn what they teach you,” Xaden says to the first-year, his voice

taking a hard edge. “Keep what you know but recite whatever they tell you
to.”

My brow furrows. What the hell does he mean by that? Battle Brief is

one of the classes taught by scribes to keep the quadrant up-to-date on all
nonclassified troop movements and battle lines. The only things we’re

asked to recite are recent events and general knowledge of what’s going on
near the front lines.

“Anyone else?” Xaden asks. “You’d better ask now. We don’t have all

night.”
It hits me then—other than being gathered in a group of more than three,

there’s nothing wrong with what they’re doing here. There’s no plot, no

coup, no danger. It’s just a group of older riders counseling first-years from
their province. But if Dain knew, he’d be honor bound to—

“When do we get to kill Violet Sorrengail?” a guy toward the back asks.

My blood turns to ice.
The murmur of assent among the group sends a jolt of terror down my

spine.
“Yeah, Xaden,” Imogen says sweetly, lifting her pale green eyes to him.