Page 59 - Fourth Wing

have always made me shrivel every time we’ve met during my mother’s

career.
“General Melgren’s?” Rhiannon whispers from my other side.

“He’ll never get it,” I say quietly as the commandant welcomes us to the

Riders Quadrant. “Melgren’s dragon gives him the signet ability to see a
battle’s outcome before it happens. There’s no beating that, and you can’t be

assassinated if you know it’s coming.”

“As the Codex says, now you begin the true crucible!” Panchek shouts,
his voice carrying over the five hundred of us that I estimate are in this

courtyard. “You will be tested by your superiors, hunted by your peers, and

guided by your instincts. If you survive to Threshing, and if you are chosen,
you will be riders. Then we’ll see how many of you make it to graduation.”

Statistics say about a quarter of us will live to graduate, give or take a few
on any year, and yet the Riders Quadrant is never short volunteers. Every

cadet in this courtyard thinks they have what it takes to be one of the elite,

the very best Navarre has to offer…a dragon rider. I can’t help but wonder
for the smallest of seconds if maybe I do, too. Maybe I can do more than

just survive.
“Your instructors will teach you,” Panchek promises, his hand sweeping

to the line of professors standing at the doors to the academic wing. “It’s up

to you how well you learn.” He swings his pointer finger at us. “Discipline
falls to your units, and your wingleader is the last word. If I have to get

involved…” A slow, sinister smile spreads across his face. “You don’t want

me involved.
“With that said, I’ll leave you to your wingleaders. My best advice?

Don’t die.” He walks off the dais with the executive commandant, leaving

only the riders on the stone stage.
A brunette woman with wide shoulders and a scarred sneer stalks

forward, the silver spikes on the shoulders of her uniform flashing in the
sunlight. “I’m Nyra, the senior wingleader of the quadrant and the head of