Page 397 - Fourth Wing

more appropriate to the climate. Then we’ll show you around Montserrat.”

Rhiannon inhales sharply, her gaze sweeping over the mountains.
“You all right?”

She nods. “Later.”

Later arrives in exactly twelve sweat-soaked minutes as we’re shown to
our double-occupancy barracks rooms. They’re sparse, only furnished with

two beds, two wardrobes, and a single desk under a wide window.

She’s quiet the entire time we make our way through the bathing chamber
to wash off the ride and alarmingly silent while we dress in our summer

leathers. It may only be April here at Montserrat, but it feels like Basgiath

in June.
“You going to tell me what’s up?” I ask, stowing my pack beneath the

bed before making sure all my daggers are where they’re supposed to be.
The hilts are barely visible in the sheaths I wear at my thighs, but I doubt

many people this far east would recognize the Tyrrish symbols.

Rhiannon’s hands tremble with what looks like nervous energy as she
straps her sword to her back. “Do you know where we are?”

I mentally bring up a map. “We’re about two hundred miles from the
coast—”

“My village is less than an hour away on foot.” Her eyes meet mine in an

unspoken plea, so much emotion swirling in their dark-brown depths that
my throat clogs, choking my words.

Taking her hands in mine, I squeeze, nodding. I know exactly what she’s

asking and exactly what it will cost if we’re caught.
“Don’t tell anyone,” I whisper, even though it’s just us in the tiny room.

“We have six days to figure it out and we will.” It’s a promise and we both

know it.
Someone pounds on our door. “Let’s go, Second Squad!”

Dain. Nine months ago, I would have relished this time away with him.
Now I find myself avoiding his constant expectations of me—or just