Page 79 - Fourth Wing

borders. Dozens of mage lights illuminate the space, more than making up

for the lack of windows and reflecting off the longsword she keeps strapped
to her back.

“And if they were, they were always third-years who’d spent time

shadowing forward wings, but we expect you to graduate with the full
knowledge of what we’re up against. It’s not about just knowing where

every wing is stationed, either.” She takes her time, making eye contact

with every first-year she sees. The rank on her shoulder says captain, but I
know she’ll be a major before she leaves her rotation teaching here, given

the medals pinned on her chest. “You need to understand the politics of our

enemies, the strategies of defending our outposts from constant attack, and
have a thorough knowledge of both recent and current battles. If you cannot

grasp these basic topics, then you have no business on the back of a
dragon.” She arches a black brow a few shades darker than her deep-brown

skin.

“No pressure,” Rhiannon mutters at my side, furiously taking notes.
“We’ll be fine,” I promise her in a whisper. “Third-years have only been

sent to midland posts as reinforcements, never the front.” I’d kept my ears
open around my mother enough to know that much.

“This is the only class you will have every day, because it’s the only class

that will matter if you’re called into service early.” Professor Devera’s gaze
sweeps from left to right and pauses on me. Her eyes flare wide for a

heartbeat, but she gives an approving smile and nod before moving on.

“Because this class is taught every day and relies on the most current
information, you will also answer to Professor Markham, who deserves

nothing but your utmost respect.”

She waves the scribe forward, and he moves to stand next to her, the
cream color of his uniform contrasting with her stark black one. He leans in

when she whispers something to him, and his thick eyebrows fly high as he
whips his head in my direction.