Page 204 - Fourth Wing

clearing, putting myself between Jack’s group and the golden dragon.

“Been waiting a long time for this, Sorrengail.” He walks forward slowly.
“If you can fly, now would be a good time,” I shout over my shoulder at

the small dragon, drawing two daggers from the sheaths at my ribs.

The dragon chuffs. So helpful.
“You can’t kill a dragon,” I try reasoning, shaking my head at the trio,

fear lacing my veins with adrenaline.

“Sure we can.” Jack shrugs, but Oren looks a little uncertain, so I pin my
gaze on him as they spread out slightly about a dozen feet away, setting up

the perfect formation for an attack.

“You can’t,” I say directly to Oren. “It goes against everything we believe
in!”

He flinches. Jack doesn’t.
“Letting something so weak, so incapable of fighting, live is against our

beliefs!” Jack shouts, and I know he’s not just talking about the dragon.

“You’re going to have to get through me, then.” My heart thunders
against my ribs as I raise my daggers, flipping one to pinch the tip so I’m

ready to throw and measuring the twenty or so feet separating me from my
attackers.

“I don’t really consider that a problem,” Jack snarls.

They all lift their swords, and I draw a deep breath, readying myself to
fight. This isn’t the mat. There are no instructors. No yielding. Nothing to

stop them slaughtering me…slaughtering us.

“I would strongly recommend you rethink your actions,” a voice—his
voice—demands from across the field to my right.

My scalp prickles as each of our heads swivel in his direction.

Xaden is leaning against the tree, his arms folded across his chest, and
behind him, watching with narrowed golden eyes, her fangs exposed, is

Sgaeyl, his terrifying navy-blue daggertail.