Page 364 - Fourth Wing

I know you don’t want to hear this, but sometimes you have to know

when to take the death blow, Mira. It’s why you have to be sure that
Violet enters the Scribe Quadrant. She’ll never be able to take a life.

—PAGE SEVENTY, THE BOOK OF BRENNAN

CHAPTER

TWENTY-FOUR

I move to scoot up the bed so I can sit, but the pain in my arm reminds me

that there was a dagger in it a couple of hours ago. Now it’s bandaged.
“How many stitches?”

“Eleven on one side and nineteen on the other.” He arches a dark brow

and leans forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “You turned oranges
into a weapon, Violence?”

I wiggle to a sitting position and shrug. “I worked with what I had.”

“Seeing as it kept you alive—kept us alive—I can’t really argue, and I’m
not going to ask how it is you always know who you’ll end up challenging.”

There’s definite anger in that gaze but a touch of relief, too. “Telling Ridoc
allowed Emetterio to get him here in time. Unfortunately, he’s five beds

down from you, and he’ll live, unlike the second-year a row over. You

could have killed him and saved us all a lot of drama.”
“I didn’t want to kill him.” I roll my shoulder, testing it. Sore, but not

dislocated. My face is tender, too. “I just wanted him to stop killing me.”
“You should have told me.” The accusation rips from his lips in a snarl.

“And you could have done nothing about it besides make me look weak.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “And you haven’t exactly been around to talk
about anything in weeks. If I didn’t know better, I’d think that kiss scared

you.” Shit. I didn’t mean to say that.