Page 476 - Fourth Wing

scars.

“Like…” My mind races, looking for something to ask. “Like where you
went the night I found you in the courtyard.”

His brow furrows. “You’re going to have to be more specific than that.

Third-years get sent away all the time.”
“You had Bodhi with you. It was right before the Gauntlet.” I nervously

run my tongue over my lower lip.

“Oh.” He picks up another book and sets it on the desk, clearly stalling
while he decides whether or not he’ll open up to me.

“I would never tell anyone anything you tell me,” I promise. “I hope you

know that.”
“I know. You never told a soul about what you saw under the tree last

fall.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Athebyne. You can’t know why or ask
anything else, but that’s where we were.”

“Oh.” That definitely wasn’t what I expected, but not out of the ordinary

for cadets to run something to an outpost. “Thank you for telling me.” I
move to put the book back and see that the binding is definitely worse for

wear after we knocked the antique tome off the desk last night. “Damn.” I
open the back cover and see that it’s split at the binding.

Something is peeking out.

“What is that?” Xaden asks, looking over my shoulder.
“Not sure.” Balancing the heavy book with one hand, I tug what looks to

be a stiff piece of parchment free from where it’s been tucked behind the

binding. Gravity shifts as I recognize my father’s handwriting, and it’s
dated just a few months before his death.

My Violet,

By the time you find this, you’ll most likely be in the Scribe Quadrant.

Remember that folklore is passed from one generation to the next to teach

us about our past. If we lose it, we lose the links to our past. It only takes