Page 367 - Fourth Wing

“Thank you for being so gracious.” He smirks, and I ignore the

immediate surge of warmth low in my belly. He flips his palm upward,
showing me the dagger with an oddly short blade. “The problem isn’t

necessarily your fighting style. You’re fast, and you’ve become pretty

damned formidable since August. The problem is you’re using daggers that
are too easy to pluck out of your hands. You need weaponry designed for

your body type.”

At least he didn’t say weaknesses.
I study the blade in his hand. It’s beautiful, with a solid black hilt

engraved with Tyrrish knots, old, mythical runes of intricate swirls and ties.

The blade itself is clearly honed to lethal perfection. “It’s spectacular.”
“It’s yours.”

My head snaps up, but there’s no lie in his onyx eyes.
“I had it made for you.” His lips curve slightly.

“What?” My mouth opens, and my chest tightens. He took the time to

have it made? Shit. That gives me feelings I really don’t want to have. Soft,
confusing feelings.

“You heard me. Take it.”
Swallowing the illogical lump in my throat, I take the blade from him. It

feels solid in my palm but is infinitely lighter than my other daggers.

There’s no strain on my wrist, and my fingers comfortably wrap around the
hilt, making it much more secure than the knives I’ve left on the floor.

“Who made it?”

“I know someone.”
“In the quadrant?” My eyebrows shoot up.

“You’d be surprised how resourceful you get after three years here.” A

smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, and I openly stare before
remembering where we are.

“It’s incredible.” I shake my head and hand it back to him. “But you
know I can’t take it. The only weapons we’re allowed to have are the ones