Page 592 - Fourth Wing

I’ll be dead in twelve hours. The promise of sweet oblivion already

hovers at the edge of my consciousness, a promise of peace if I agree to just
let go.

“There’s somewhere closer,” Xaden says quietly, and I feel his fingers

skim over my cheek. The motion is unnervingly tender.
Another wave of fire consumes me, singeing every nerve, but all I can do

is lie there and take it.

Make it stop. Gods, make it stop.
“You can’t be serious.” Someone’s voice lowers to a hiss.

“You’ll put everything at risk,” Garrick warns as sleep tugs at me, the

only escape from the searing pain.
Tairn bellows so loudly, my rib cage vibrates. At least he’s close.

“I wouldn’t say that again,” Imogen mutters, “or he’ll probably eat you.
And don’t forget, if she dies, there’s a damn good chance Xaden does, too.”

“I’m not saying he shouldn’t, just reminding him what the stakes are,”

Garrick replies.
Can Tairn feel the disconnect between us? Is he suffering the same way I

am? Was the sword poisoned, too? Can Andarna fly? Or does she need to
sleep?

Sleep. That’s what I want. Cool, blissful, empty sleep.

“I don’t give a fuck what happens to me!” Xaden yells at someone. “We
are going and that’s an order.”

“No need for orders, man. We’ll save her.” That’s Bodhi. I think.

“Live up to your nickname and fight this, Violence,” Xaden whispers
against my ear. Then he says louder, to someone farther away, “We have to

get her to him. We ride.” I feel the shift as he begins to walk, but the agony

of movement against the wound is too much, and I fade into blackness.

…

Hours pass before I wake again. Maybe seconds. Maybe days. Maybe it’s