Page 49 - Fourth Wing

hell are you?”

“I’m Rhiannon. I’m Violet’s…friend.”
I stare at the gravel under my mismatched boots and will the meager

contents of my stomach to stay put.

“Listen to me, Rhiannon. Violet is fine,” he commands. “And if anyone
asks, then you tell them exactly what I said, that it’s just the adrenaline

working out of her system. Understand?”

“It’s no one’s business what’s going on with Violet,” she retorts, her tone
just as sharp as his. “So I wouldn’t say shit. Especially not when she’s the

reason I made it across the parapet.”

“You’d better mean that,” he warns, the bite in his voice at odds with the
ceaseless, comforting circles he makes on my back.

“I could ask you just who the hell you are,” she retorts.
“He’s one of my oldest friends.” The trembles slowly subside, and the

nausea wanes, but I’m not sure if it’s from timing or my position, so I keep

my head between my knees while I manage to unlace my left boot.
“Oh,” Rhiannon answers.

“And a second-year rider, cadet,” he growls.
Gravel crunches, like Rhiannon has backed up a step.

“No one can see you here, Vi, so take your time,” Dain says softly.

“Because puking my guts up after surviving the parapet and the asshole
who wanted to throw me off it would be considered weak.” I rise slowly,

sitting upright.

“Exactly,” he answers. “Are you hurt?” His gaze rakes over me with a
desperate edge, like he needs to see every inch for himself.

“My knee is sore,” I admit in a whisper, because it’s Dain. Dain, whom

I’ve known since we were five and six. Dain, whose father is one of my
mother’s most trusted advisers. Dain, who held me together when Mira left

for the Riders Quadrant and again when Brennan died.
He takes my chin between his thumb and forefinger, turning my face left