Page 94 - Fourth Wing

It is my opinion that of all the signet powers riders provide,

mending is the most precious, but we cannot allow ourselves to
become complacent when in the company of such a signet. For
menders are rare, and the wounded are not.

—MAJOR FREDERICK’S MODERN GUIDE FOR HEALERS

CHAPTER

SIX

Flames of agony engulf my upper arm and chest as Dain carries me through

the lower, covered passage out of the Riders Quadrant, over the ravine, and
into the Healer Quadrant. It’s basically a stone bridge, covered and sided

with more stone, which pretty much makes it a suspended tunnel with a few

windows, but I’m not thinking clearly enough to take it in as we rush
through, his strides eating up the distance.

“Almost there,” he reassures me, his grip firm but careful on my rib cage

and beneath my knees as my useless arm rests on my chest.
“Everyone saw you lose it,” I whisper, doing my best to mentally block

the pain like I have countless times before. It’s usually as easy as building a
mental wall around the pulsing torment in my body, then telling myself the

pain only exists in that box so I can’t feel it, but it isn’t working so well this

time.
“I didn’t lose it.” He kicks the door three times when we reach it.

“You shouted and carried me out of there like I mean something to you.”
I focus on the scar on his jaw, the stubble on his tan skin, anything to keep

from feeling the utter destruction in my shoulder.

“You do mean something to me.” He kicks again.
And now everyone knows.