Page 160 - Fourth Wing
P. 160

various shades of apricot to carrot, are the most—I throw myself to the next

                rail—unpredictable  of  dragonkind  and  therefore  always  a  risk.  I  move
                across the rail with the same hand-over-hand motion, ignoring the outright

                protests of my shoulders. Descending from the Fhaicorain line—

                   My right hand loses purchase and my weight swings me into the face of
                the steep mountainside, my cheek slamming into the rock. A high-pitched

                ringing erupts in my ears and my vision darkens at the edges.

                   “Violet!” Rhiannon shouts from the top.
                   “Next to you! The rope is next to you!” Aurelie calls up.

                   Iron scrapes my fingertips as my left hand slips, but I spot the rope and

                take hold, bracing my feet on the knot beneath me and clinging tight until
                the ringing fades in my head. I have to swing over or climb down.

                   I’ve survived seven weeks in this damned quadrant, and this course isn’t
                going to beat me today.

                   Pushing off the edge, I swing out for the rail and make it, immediately

                starting the hand over hand to get me to the next one and then the next, until
                I finally let go, landing on the first shaking iron pillar. My brain is rattled as

                the  thing  shudders  violently,  and  I  leap  to  the  next,  barely  gaining  a
                foothold before jumping to the gravel path at the end of the ascent.

                   Aurelie is right behind me, landing with a grin. “This is the best!”

                   “You clearly need to see the healers. You must have hit your head if you
                think this is fun.” My breaths are choppy gasps, but I can’t help but smile at

                her obvious joy.

                   “Just  run  straight  across  this  one,”  she  says  as  we  reach  the  twisting
                staircase posts jutting straight from the side of the cliff face.

                   Each three-foot-wide timber rotates from its base in one of the steepest

                sections of the course. I quickly calculate if you fall off one of the posts,
                you’d probably drop at least thirty or forty feet onto the rocky terrain below.

                I swallow down the terror trying to crawl up my throat and focus on the
                possibility my agility and lightness will give me an edge on this particular
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