Page 93 - Fourth Wing

send my fist into her cheek and roll out from under her.

My hand screams with pain even though I’m sure I formed the fist right,
but I block it out as we both gain our feet.

“What kind of armor is that?” she asks, staring at my ribs as we circle

each other.
“Mine.” I duck and dodge as she comes at me again, but her movements

are a blur.

“Imogen!” Emetterio shouts. “Do it again, and I’ll—”
I swerve the wrong way this time and she catches me, taking me to the

floor. The mat smacks my face, and her knee digs into my back as she pulls

my right arm behind me.
“Yield!” she shouts.

I can’t. If I yield on the first day, what will the second bring? “No!” Now
I’m the one lacking common sense like Tynan, and I’m far more breakable.

She pulls my arm farther, and pain consumes every thought, blackening

the edges of my vision. I cry out as the ligaments stretch, shred, then pop.
“Yield, Violet!” Dain yells.

“Yield!” Imogen demands.
Gasping for breath against the weight of her on my back, I turn my face

to the side as she wrenches my shoulder apart, the pain consuming me.

“She yields,” Emetterio says. “That’s enough.”
I hear it again—the macabre sound of snapping bone—but this time it’s

mine.