Page 227 - Fourth Wing

years. “They’re not going to let us do this.” Oh shit, what if they make me

choose?
My stomach plummets.

“It’s up to the Empyrean to decide,” Tairn says, but there’s an edge of

tension in his tone. “Don’t leave the field. This might take a while.”
“What might—” My question dies on my tongue as the biggest dragon

I’ve ever seen, even larger than Tairn, stalks toward us from the opening to

the valley. Each dragon it passes walks into the center of the field and
follows after, gathering dozens as it walks. “Is that…”

“Codagh,” Tairn answers.

General Melgren’s dragon.
I make out the patchy holes in his battle-scarred wings as he comes

closer, his golden gaze focused on Tairn in a way that makes me nauseous.
He growls, low in his throat, turning those sinister eyes on me.

Tairn rumbles his own growl, stepping forward so I’m between his

massive claws.
There’s zero doubt I’m the subject of both disgruntled snarls.

“Yep! We’re talking about you!” Andarna says as the line passes by, and
she joins.

“Stay close to the wingleader until we return,” Tairn orders.

Surely he meant to say squad leader.
“You heard what I said.”

Or not.

I glance around and spot Xaden standing across the field, his arms
crossed and legs spread as he stares at Tairn.

The riders are eerily silent as the dragons empty the meadow, taking

flight in a steady stream near the end and landing halfway up the
southernmost peak in a shadowy grouping I can barely define in the

moonlight.
The second the last of the dragons flies off, chaos erupts. First-years