Page 489 - Fourth Wing

death roll this week, a third-year who didn’t come back from an overnight

mission.
By the time we make it to the courtyard, the party is in full swing. There’s

a blend of pale blue for the healers, cream for the scribes, and the navy-blue

uniforms of the infantry more than overwhelming the scattered black
uniforms. There must be a thousand people or more in here.

Mage lights hang above us in the form of a dozen chandeliers, and drapes

of rich velvets cover the stone walls of Basgiath, transforming the
functional outdoor space into a ballroom of sorts. There’s even a string

quartet playing in the corner.

“Where are you?” I ask Xaden, but there’s no answer.
We all seem to scatter as we enter, but Liam stays at my side, as tense as

the string on my crossbow. “Tell me you’re wearing your armor under all
that.”

“You think someone is going to knife me in front of my mother?” I

gesture to the exposed balcony where Mom appears to be holding court,
surveying her domain. Our gazes collide and she whispers something to the

man next to her, disappearing from view.
Nice to see you, too.

“I think if anyone was going to knife you, now would be the time,

especially knowing that killing you has a good chance of ending Fen
Riorson’s son.” His voice tightens.

That’s when I notice the stares of the officers and cadets around us.

They’re not gawking at my hair or the name on my sash. No, their gazes
widen at Liam’s wrist and the visible swirls of his rebellion relic.

I hook my arm through his and lift my chin. “I’m so sorry.”

“There is absolutely nothing for you to be sorry about.” He gives my
hand a reassuring pat.

“Of course there is,” I whisper. Oh gods, everyone is here to gather in
celebration of the end of what he and the others call the apostasy. They’re