Page 309 - Fourth Wing

his head. “I’ve seen you practicing this week with those blades of yours,

Sorrengail. Riorson was right. You would have been wasted as a scribe.”
My chest swells with more than a little pride. “That remains to be seen.”

At least challenges haven’t resumed. Guess enough of us are dying during

flight lessons to hold off on killing more through hand-to-hand. “What did
you want to be when you grew up?” I ask, just to keep the conversation

going.

“Alive.” He shrugs.
Well, that’s…something.

“How do you know Xaden anyway?” I’m not foolish enough to think that

everyone in the province of Tyrrendor knows one another.
“Riorson and I were fostered at the same estate after the apostasy,” he

says, using the Tyrrish term for the rebellion, which I haven’t heard in ages.
“You were fostered?” My mouth drops open. Fostering the children of

aristocrats was a custom that died out after the unification of Navarre more

than six hundred years ago.
“Well, yeah.” He shrugs again. “Where did you think the kids of the

traitors”—he flinches at the word—“went after they executed our parents?”
I look out over the sprawling shelves of texts, wondering if one of them

holds the answer. “I didn’t think.” My throat catches on that last word.

“Most of our great houses were given to nobles who had remained loyal.”
He clears his throat. “As it should be.”

I don’t bother agreeing with what’s obviously a conditioned reply. King

Tauri’s response after the rebellion was swift, even cruel, but I was a
fifteen-year-old girl too lost in her own grief to think mercifully on the

people who’d caused my brother’s death. The burning of Aretia, which had

been Tyrrendor’s capital, to the ground had never sat well with me, though.
Liam was the same age. It wasn’t his fault his mother had broken faith with

Navarre. “But you didn’t go with your father to his new home?”
His gaze swings toward mine, and his brow furrows. “It’s hard to live