Page 130 - Fourth Wing

They think you’re a liability to the wing thanks to that Barlowe kid.” His

gaze shifts to Oren, who’s sizing me up like a damned plaything he’s
planning on breaking.

But there’s a greenish twinge to his complexion that makes me grin.

“I’m going to be fine,” I recite, because that’s my fucking mantra. I’m
stripped down to the dragon-scale vest that’s starting to feel like a second

skin and my fighting leathers. All four of my daggers are sheathed, and if

my plan goes correctly, I’ll have one more to add to my collection soon.
The Second Wing first-year passes out, and Rhiannon rises victorious as

we clap. Then she leans over her opponent and removes the dagger at his

side. “Looks like this is mine now. Enjoy your nap.” She pats him on the
head, which makes me laugh.

“Not sure why you’re laughing, Sorrengail,” a sneering voice calls out
from behind me.

I turn around and see Jack standing with his feet apart against the wood-

planked wall about ten feet away, wearing a smile that can only be
described as evil.

“Fuck off, Barlowe.” I gift him the middle finger.
“I honestly hope you win today’s challenge.” His eyes dance with a

sadistic glee that makes me queasy. “It would be a shame for someone else

to kill you before I get the chance. But I wouldn’t be surprised. Violets are
such delicate…fragile things, you know.”

Delicate, my ass.

He’d probably think twice about plotting your murder if you threw a few
daggers at his head.

I unsheathe both daggers from my ribs and flick them in his direction in

one smooth movement. They land right where I intended—one nearly
nicking his ear and the other an inch beneath his balls.

Fear widens his eyes.
I shamelessly grin and wiggle my fingers in a wave.