Page 92 - Fourth Wing

mat. “You’ve got this,” Rhiannon says, tapping my shoulder as she passes

me.
“Sorrengail.” The pink-haired girl looks me over like I’m something she’s

scraped off the side of her boot, narrowing her pale green eyes. “You really

should dye your hair if you don’t want everyone to know who your mother
is. You’re the only silver-haired freak in the quadrant.”

“Never said I cared if everyone knows who my mother is.” I circle the

second-year on the mat. “I am proud of her service to protect our kingdom
—from enemies both without and within.”

As her jaw tightens at the dig, a bubble of hope rises in my chest. Marked

ones, as I’d heard some people this morning refer to those carrying
rebellion relics on their arms, blame my mother for the execution of their

parents. Fine. Hate me. Mom often says the minute you let emotion enter a
fight, you’ve already lost. I’ve never prayed harder that my ice-in-her-veins

mother was right.

“You bitch,” she seethes. “Your mother murdered my family.”
She lunges forward and swings wildly, and I quickly sidestep, spinning

away with my hands up. We do that for a few more rounds, and I land a few
jabs, start to think that my plan might just work.

She growls low in her throat as she misses me again, and her foot flies at

my head. I easily duck, but then she drops to the ground and kicks out with
her other foot, which lands square in my chest, sending me backward. I hit

the mat with a thud, and she’s already above me, so damn fast.

“You can’t use your powers in here, Imogen!” Dain shouts.
Imogen is trying her best to kill me.

Her eyes are above mine, and I feel the quick slide of something hard

against my ribs as she smiles at me. But her smile fades as we both look
down, and I can’t help but notice a dagger being re-sheathed.

The armor just saved my life. Thank you, Mira.
Confusion mars Imogen’s face for just a second, long enough for me to