Page 316 - Fourth Wing

“Sorry, Sorrengail,” someone says, stepping out of the way and tugging

their friend with them as we enter the tiered classroom.
“Nothing to be sorry about!” I call out, but they’re already headed up a

few rows. “I’m never going to get used to that.”

“It definitely makes getting places easier,” Rhiannon teases as we
descend the steps that curve along the massive turret.

“They show the appropriate level of deference,” Tairn grumbles.

“To what they think I’ll be, not who I am.” We find our row and walk to
our seats, sitting as a squad among the first-years.

“That shows excellent forethought.”

The room buzzes with energy as riders file in, and I can’t help but notice
that no one has to stand anymore. Our numbers have decreased

exponentially in the last four months. The number of empty chairs is
sobering. We lost another first-year yesterday when he got too close to

another rider’s Red Scorpiontail on the flight field. One second he was

standing there, and the next he was a scorched patch of earth. I kept as close
to Tairn as possible the rest of the session.

My scalp prickles, but I fight the urge to turn around.
“Riorson just got here,” Liam says from the seat to my right, breaking

from the little dragon figurine he’s carving and looking up the rows toward

the third-years.
“Figured.” I hold up my middle finger and keep my eyes forward. Not

that I don’t like Liam, but I’m still pissed at Xaden for assigning him.

Liam snorts and grins, flashing his dimple. “And now he’s glaring. Tell
me, is it fun pissing off the most powerful rider in the quadrant?”

“You could try it yourself and find out,” I suggest, opening my notebook

to the next empty page. I can’t turn around. I won’t. Wanting Xaden is fine.
It has to be. Indulging the impulses it gives me? That’s asinine.

“That’s going to be a no from me.”
I lose the battle with my self-control and look over my shoulder. Sure