Page 45 - Fourth Wing

lines of his dark goatee. He’s not wearing a cloak, and the rain soaks into

the bevy of patches stitched into a worn leather jacket. “Cadet Sorrengail
has you by the actual balls here, in more ways than one. She’s right. Regs

state that there’s nothing but respect among riders at formation. You want to

kill her, you’ll have to do it in the sparring ring or on your own time. That
is, if she decides to let you off the parapet. Because technically, you’re not

on the grounds yet, so you are not a cadet. She is.”

“And if I decide to snap her neck the second I step down?” Jack growls,
and the look in his eyes says he’ll do it.

“Then you get to meet the dragons early,” the redhead answers, her tone

bland. “We don’t wait for trials around here. We just execute.”
“What’s it going to be, Sorrengail?” the male rider asks. “You going to

have Jack here start as a eunuch?”
Shit. What is it going to be? I can’t kill him, not at this angle, and slicing

off his balls is only going to make him hate me more, if possible.

“Are you going to follow the rules?” I ask Jack. My head is buzzing, and
my arm feels so damned heavy, but I keep my knife on target.

“Guess I don’t have a choice.” A corner of his mouth tilts into a sneer,
and his posture relaxes as he raises his hands, palms out.

I lower my dagger but keep it palmed and ready as I move sideways,

toward the redhead keeping roll.
Jack steps down into the courtyard, his shoulder knocking mine as he

walks by, pausing to lean in close. “You’re dead, Sorrengail, and I’m going

to be the one to kill you.”