Page 96 - Fourth Wing

“Get Nolon or he will let his dragon eat you alive, sour face and all,

Helen.” Winifred arches a silver eyebrow as she ignores Dain insisting
again not to call the mender.

The woman blanches and disappears.

Dain pulls a wooden chair closer to my bed, and it scrapes the floor with
a god-awful sound. “Violet, I know you’re hurting, but maybe…”

“Maybe what, Dain Aetos? You want to see her suffer?” Winifred

lectures. “I told her they’d break you,” she mutters as she leans over me, her
gray eyes full of worry as she assesses me. Winifred is the best healer

Basgiath has, and she prepares every tonic she prescribes herself—and has

seen me through more scrapes than I care to count over the years. “Would
she listen to me? Absolutely not. Your mother is so damned stubborn.”

She reaches for my injured arm, and I wince as she raises it a couple of
inches, prods my shoulder.

“Well, that’s certainly broken.” Winifred tsks, raising her brows at the

sight of my arm. “And it looks like we need a surgeon for that shoulder.
What happened?” she asks Dain.

“Sparring,” I explain in one word.
“You hush. Save your energy.” Winifred looks back at Dain. “Make

yourself useful, boy, and pull the curtain around us. The fewer people who

see her injured, the better.”
He jumps to his feet and quickly complies, drawing the blue fabric

around us to make a small but effective room, separating us from the other

riders who have been brought in.
“Drink this.” Winifred brings out a vial of amber liquid from her belt. “It

will handle the pain while we get you sorted.”

“You can’t ask him to mend her,” Dain protests as she uncorks the glass.
“The pair of us have been mending her for the past five years,” she

lectures, bringing the vial closer. “Don’t start telling me what I can and
cannot do.”