Page 399 - Fourth Wing

He startles like I’ve slapped him.

“So we’ll get you riders fed and put to bed, and then we’ll work on who
you’ll be shadowing while you’re here,” Quade continues.

“Will we get to participate in any active scenarios?” Heaton asks,

practically vibrating with excitement.
“Absolutely not!” Devera snaps.

“If you see combat, then I’ve failed as this being the safest place on the

border to send you,” Quade answers. “But you get bonus points for
enthusiasm. Let me guess. Third-year?”

Heaton nods.

Quade turns slightly and smiles at three indistinct figures in rider black as
they walk under the portcullis. “There they are now. Why don’t you three

come and meet—”
“Violet?”

My head whips toward the gate, and my heart combusts in a series of

erratic beats that leaves me clutching my chest with the best kind of shock.
No way. There’s no way. I stumble for the gate, forgetting to be stoic, to be

emotionally untouchable, as she breaks into a run, her arms opening just
before we collide.

She sweeps me up, yanking me against her chest and squeezing tight. She

smells like dirt and dragon and the coppery tang of blood, but I don’t care. I
hug her back just as hard.

“Mira.” I bury my face against her shoulder, and my eyes burn as she

rests her hand on top of the very braid she taught me how to do. It’s as if the
weight of everything that’s happened over the last nine months comes

crashing down, slamming into me with the force of a cross-bolt.

The wind of the parapet.
The look in Xaden’s eyes when he realized I was a Sorrengail.

The sound of Jack swearing he’d kill me.
The smell of burning flesh that first day.