Page 90 - Fourth Wing

He takes it.

“Cianna, take Aurelie to the healers. No reason to lose a tooth during
assessment,” Emetterio orders.

“I’ll make you a deal,” Rhiannon says, locking her brown eyes with mine.

“Let’s help each other out. We’ll help you with hand-to-hand if you help us
with history. Sound like a deal, Sawyer?”

“Absolutely.”

“Deal.” I swallow as one of the third-years wipes down the mat with a
towel. “But I think I’m getting the better end of that.”

“You haven’t seen me try to memorize dates,” Rhiannon jokes.

A couple of mats over, someone shrieks, and we all turn to look. Jack
Barlowe has another first-year in a headlock. The other guy is smaller,

thinner than Jack, but still has a good fifty pounds on me.
Jack yanks his arms, his hands still secure around the other man’s head.

“That guy is such an ass—” Rhiannon starts.

The sickening crack of bones breaking sounds across the gym, and the
first-year goes limp in Jack’s hold.

“Sweet Malek,” I whisper as Jack drops the man to the ground. I’m
starting to wonder if the god of death lives here for how often his name

must be invoked. My lunch threatens to reappear, but I breathe in through

my nose and out through my mouth, since it’s not like I can shove my head
between my knees here.

“What did I say?” their instructor shouts as he charges onto the mat. “You

broke his damned neck!”
“How was I supposed to know his neck was that weak?” Jack argues.

You’re dead, Sorrengail, and I’m going to be the one to kill you. His

promise from yesterday slithers through my memory.
“Eyes forward,” Emetterio orders, but his tone is kinder than it has been

as we all look away from the dead first-year. “You don’t have to get used to
it,” he tells us. “But you do have to function through it. You and you.” He