Fourth Wing by Rebecca Yarros Free Chapter 11

CHAPTER
ELEVEN
The next practice sessions of the Gauntlet are no more successful than my
first, but at least we don’t lose another squadmate. Tynan has quit running
his mouth, since he can’t seem to make it up fully, either.
The buoy balls are his downfall.
The chimney is mine.
By the ninth—and next-to-last—session, I’m ready to set the entire
obstacle course on fire. The section of the course that’s my downfall is
meant to simulate the strength and agility it takes to mount a dragon, and
it’s becoming clear that my size is going to fuck me.
“Maybe you can climb up onto my shoulders and then…” Rhiannon
shakes her head as we study the crevice that’s become my nemesis.
“Then I’m still stuck halfway up,” I answer, wiping the sweat from my
forehead.
“Doesn’t matter. You can’t touch another cadet on the route.” Sawyer
folds his arms beside me, the tip of his nose now bright red from the high
sun.
“Are you here to squash hopes and dreams, or do you have a
suggestion?” Rhiannon retorts. “Because Presentation is tomorrow, so if
you’ve got any bright ideas, now is the time.”
If I’m going to run to the Scribe Quadrant, then tonight is the night. My
heart clenches against the thought. It’s the logical choice. The safe choice.
There are only two thoughts stopping me.
One, there’s no guarantee my mother won’t find out. Just because
Markham would keep quiet doesn’t mean the instructors there will.
But most importantly, if I go, if I hide…I’ll never know if I’m good
enough to make it here. And while I might not survive if I stay, I’m not sure
I can live with myself if I leave.
…
“Doria Merrill,” Captain Fitzgibbons says from the dais. Every one of his
features is crystal clear, not only because the sun is behind the shade of the
clouds but because I’m closer. Our formation gets tighter with every cadet
who falls.
According to Brennan and statistics, today will be one of the deadliest for
first-years.
It’s Presentation Day, and in order to get to the flight field, we’ll have to
climb the Gauntlet first. Everything about the Riders Quadrant is designed
to weed out the weak, and today is no exception.
“Kamryn Dyre.” Captain Fitzgibbons continues to read from the roll.
I flinch. His seat was across from mine in Dragonkind.
“Arvel Pelipa.”
Imogen and Quinn—both second-years—suck in a breath ahead of me.
First-years aren’t the only ones at risk; we’re just the most likely to die.
“Michel Iverem.” Captain Fitzgibbons closes the roll. “We commend
their souls to Malek.” And with that final word, formation breaks.
“Second- and third-years, unless you’re on Gauntlet duty, head to class.
First-years, it’s time to show us what you’ve got.” Dain forces a smile and
skips right over me as he looks at our squad.
“Good luck today.” Imogen tucks an errant strand of pink hair behind her
ear and aims a sickly-sweet smile right at me. “Hopefully you won’t fall…
short.”
“See you later,” I reply, lifting my chin.
She stares at me with complete loathing for a second, then walks off with
Quinn and Cianna, our executive officer, her shoulder-length blond curls
bouncing.
“Best of luck.” Heaton—the thickest third-year in our squad, with red
flames cut and dyed into their hair—taps their heart, right over two of their
patches, and offers us all a genuine but flat-lipped smile before heading to
class.
As I stare at their retreating back, I wonder what the circular patch on
their upper right arm with water and floating spheres means. I know the
triangular patch to the left of that one, with the longsword, means they’re
not to be messed with on the mat. Since Dain told me about the patch
denoting his top secret signet, I’ve been paying close attention to the
patches other cadets have sewn into their uniforms. Most wear them like
badges of honor, but I recognize them for what they really are—intelligence
that I might one day need to defeat them.
“I didn’t realize Heaton actually knew how to speak.” Two lines appear
between Ridoc’s brows.
“Maybe they figure they should at least say hi before we’re potentially
roasted today,” Rhiannon says.
“Back into formation,” Dain orders.
“Are you going with us?” I ask.
He nods, still not looking at me.
The eight of us fall into two lines of four, the same as the other squads
around us.
“Awkward,” Rhiannon whispers from my side. “He seems kind of pissed
at you.”
I glance up over Trina’s slim shoulders as the breeze whips at the braid
I’ve woven like a crown. It’s working a few of Trina’s ringlet curls loose,
too. “He wants something I can’t give him.”
Her eyebrows rise.
I roll my eyes. “Not like…that.”
“I wouldn’t care if it was like that,” she replies under her breath. “He’s
hot. He has that whole boy-next-door-who-can-still-kick-your-ass vibe
going for him.”
I fight a smile because she’s right. He so does.
“We’re the biggest squad,” Ridoc notes behind us as the squads farthest
left—from First Wing—file out through the western gate in the courtyard.
“What are we down to?” Tynan asks. “Hundred and eighty?”
“Hundred and seventy-one,” Dain answers. Squads from Second Wing
begin to move, led by their wingleader, which means Xaden is somewhere
ahead of us.
My nerves are reserved for the obstacle course, but I can’t help but
wonder which way his scales will tip today.
“For a hundred dragons? But what will we…” Trina asks, nerves cutting
off her words.
“Stop letting fear leach into your voice,” Luca snaps from behind
Rhiannon. “If the dragons think you’re a coward, you’ll be nothing but a
name tomorrow.”
“She says,” Ridoc narrates, “inducing more fear.”
“Shut up,” Luca fires back. “You know it’s true.”
“Just portray confidence, and I’m sure you’ll be fine.” I lean forward so
our squadmates behind us can’t hear me as Third Wing begins to march for
the gate.
“Thanks,” Trina whispers in reply.
Dain’s narrowed gaze finally locks on mine, but at least he doesn’t call
me a liar. There’s enough accusation in his eyes that I might as well be tried
and convicted of it, though.
“Nervous, Rhi?” I ask, knowing we’re about to be called next.
“For you?” she asks. “Not at all. We’ve got this.”
“Oh, I meant about the history test tomorrow,” I tease. “There’s nothing
going on today to panic about.”
“Now that you mention it, the whole Treaty of Arif might just be the
death of me.” She grins.
“Ahh, the agreement between Navarre and Krovla for mutually shared
airspace for both dragons and gryphons over a narrow strip of the Esben
Mountains, between Sumerton and Draithus,” I recall, nodding.
“Your memory is terrifying.” She shoots me a smile.
But my memory isn’t going to get me up the Gauntlet.
“Fourth Wing!” Xaden calls out from somewhere in the distance. I don’t
even need to see to know that it’s him who gave the order and not his
executive officer. “Move out!”
We file off, Flame Section, then Claw, and finally Tail.
There’s a bit of a bottleneck at the gate, but then we’re through, walking
into the mage-lit dimness of the tunnel that we take every morning to reach
the Gauntlet. Shadows blanket the edges of the rocky floor along our path.
What are the limits of Xaden’s power anyway? Could he use shadows to
choke out every squad in here? Would he need to rest or recharge after?
Does such a vast power come with any sort of checks or balances?
Dain falls back so he walks between Rhiannon and me. “Change your
mind.” It’s barely a whisper.
“No.” I sound way more confident than I feel.
“Change. Your. Mind.” His hand finds mine, concealed by our tight
formation as we descend through the passage. “Please.”
“I can’t.” I shake my head. “Any more than you would leave Cath and
run to the scribes yourself.”
“That’s different.” His hand squeezes mine, and I can feel the tension in
his fingers, his arm. “I’m a rider.”
“Well, maybe I am, too,” I whisper as light appears ahead. I didn’t
believe it before, not when I couldn’t leave because my mother wouldn’t let
me, but now I have a choice. And I choose to stay.
“Don’t be—” He cuts himself off and drops my hand. “I don’t want to
bury you, Vi.”
“It’s inevitable that one of us will have to bury the other.” It’s not
macabre, just fact.
“You know what I mean.”
The light grows into an archway that’s ten feet high, leading us to the
base of the Gauntlet.
“Please don’t do this,” Dain begs, not bothering to lower his voice this
time as we emerge into the mottled sunlight.
The view is spectacular as always. We’re still high on the mountain,
thousands of feet above the valley, and the greenery seems to stretch
endlessly to the south, with random clusters of squat trees among colorful
slopes of wildflowers. My gaze turns to the Gauntlet carved into the face of
the cliff, and I can’t help but follow each obstacle higher and higher until
I’m staring at the top of the ridgeline that the maps I’ve studied show leads
into a box canyon—the flight field. I bite my lip as I stare at the break in the
tree line.
Normally, only riders are allowed on the flight field—except for
Presentation.
“I don’t know if I can watch,” Dain says, drawing my attention back to
his strong face. His perfectly trimmed beard brackets full lips drawn tight
into a frown.
“Then close your eyes.” I have a plan—a shitty one, but it’s worth a try.
“What changed between Parapet and now?” Dain asks again, a wealth of
emotions in his eyes that I can’t begin to interpret. Well, except the fear.
That doesn’t need any interpretation.
“Me.”
…
An hour later, my feet fly over the spinning posts of the staircase, and I
jump to the safety of the gravel path. Third ascent complete. Two more to
go. And I haven’t touched a single rope.
I swear I can feel Dain staring from the bottom of the course, where
Tynan and Luca have yet to start their climb, but I don’t look down. There’s
no time for what he thinks will be one last look, and I can’t afford the delay
of comforting him when there are still two obstacles ahead of me.
Which means there’s one I haven’t even had the chance to practice—the
nearly vertical ramp at the end.
“You can do it!” Rhiannon yells from the top as I reach the chimney
structure.
“Or you can do us all a favor and fall!” another voice yells. Jack, no
doubt. At least it’s only been our squad at practice sessions, but every firstyear can watch now, either from the base of the course or the edges of the
cliff above.
I look up at the hollow column I’m supposed to climb, then dart back a
few feet along the path.
“What are you doing?” Rhiannon shouts as I grab one of the ropes and
drag it horizontally across the surface of the cliff, sending pebbles into free
fall.
It’s heavy as hell and protests the stretch, but I manage to get the bottom
portion onto the chimney structure. Pulling the rope as tight as it can go, I
plant one foot on the side of the shaft and give the rope a tug, then send up a
prayer to Zihnal that this is going to work.
“Can she do that?” someone snaps.
I’m doing it now.
Then I lift my other foot and begin to climb up the chimney, using only
the right side, walking up stone and leveraging my weight with the rope,
hand over hand. The line slips about halfway up as the rope scrapes over a
large boulder, but I quickly take up the slack and keep climbing. My heart
thunders in my ears, but it’s my hands that are killing me. It feels like
flames are eating my palms, and I grit my teeth so I don’t cry out.
There it is. The top.
The rope barely cuts the corner of the structure now, and I use what’s left
of my upper-body strength to pull myself up, scrambling to my hands and
knees on the path.
“Hell yes!” Ridoc yells, hooting from the top. “That’s our girl!”
“Get up!” Rhiannon shouts. “One more!”
My chest heaves and my lungs ache, but I make it to my feet. I’m on the
last ascent, the final path to the flight field, and standing in front of me is a
ramp made of wood that juts out ten feet from the cliff wall, then curves
upward like the inside of a bowl, the highest point level with the cliff top
ten feet above.
The obstacle is meant to test a cadet’s ability to scale a dragon’s foreleg
and reach its saddle. And I’m too short.
But Xaden’s words that the right way wasn’t the only way have played
over and over in my head all night long. By the time the sun rose and
chased away the darkness, I had a plan.
I only hope I can actually pull it off.
I unsheathe my largest dagger from home and wipe away the sweat on
my forehead with the back of my dirty palm. Then I forget the agony in my
hands, the throbbing of my shoulders, and the twinge in my knee from
landing wrong after the pillars. I block out all the pain, lock it behind a wall
like I’ve done my entire life, and focus on the ramp as though my life
depends on making it.
There’s no rope here. There’s only one way I’m getting over this.
Sheer fucking will.
And so I charge, using my speed to my advantage.
There’s a drumlike sound as my feet beat against the ramp and the incline
sharpens. Just because I haven’t personally conquered this obstacle doesn’t
mean I haven’t watched my squadmates take it over and over again. I throw
my body forward and momentum carries me upward, running up the side of
the ramp.
I wait until I feel the precious shift, the moment gravity reclaims my body
almost two feet from the top, and I swing my arm up and slam my dagger
into the slick, soft wood of the ramp—and use it to fling myself the last foot
upward.
A primal scream rips from my throat as my shoulder cries in protest just
as my fingers graze the lip of the edge. I throw my elbow over the top to
gain more leverage and pull myself up and over, using the handle of my
dagger as a final step before lurching onto the top of the cliff.
Not done yet.
On my stomach, I turn to face the ramp, then reach over the side and yank
my dagger free, sheathing it at my ribs before I stagger to my feet. I made
it. Relief sucks the adrenaline straight out of my body.
Rhiannon’s arms sweep around me, taking my weight as I gasp for air.
Ridoc hugs my back, squeezing me like I’m the filling of a sandwich as he
hollers in happiness. I’d protest, but right now they’re all that’s keeping me
upright.
“She can’t do that!” someone shouts.
“Yeah, well, she just did!” Ridoc tosses over his shoulder, loosening his
grip on me.
My knees shake, but they hold as I suck in breath after breath.
“You made it!” Rhiannon takes my face in her hands, tears filling her
brown eyes. “You made it!”
“Luck.” I draw in another breath and beg my galloping heart to slow.
“And. Adrenaline.”
“Cheating!”
I turn toward the voice. It’s Amber Mavis, the strawberry-blond
wingleader from Third Wing who was Dain’s close friend last year, and
there’s nothing but fury on her face as she charges toward Xaden, who’s
only a couple of feet away with the roll, recording times with a stopwatch
and looking rather bored with it all.
“Back the hell up, Mavis,” Garrick threatens, the sun flashing off the two
swords the curly-haired section leader keeps strapped to his back as he puts
his body between Amber and Xaden.
“The cheater clearly used foreign materials not once but twice,” Amber
yells. “It’s not to be tolerated! We live by the rules or we die by them!”
No wonder she and Dain are so close—they’re both in love with the
Codex.
“I don’t take kindly to calling anyone in my section a cheater,” Garrick
warns, his massive shoulders blocking her from view as he turns. “And my
wingleader will handle any rule-breaking in his own wing.” He moves to
the side, and I’m met with Amber’s glaring blue eyes.
“Sorrengail?” Xaden asks, arching an eyebrow in obvious challenge, a
pen poised over the book. I notice not for the first time that other than his
Fourth Wing and wingleader emblems, he doesn’t wear the patches others
are so fond of displaying.
“I expect the thirty-second penalty for using the rope,” I answer, my
breaths steadying.
“And the knife?” Amber’s gaze narrows. “She’s disqualified.” When
Xaden doesn’t answer, she turns that glare on him. “Surely she’s out! You
can’t tolerate lawlessness within your own wing, Riorson!”
But Xaden’s gaze never leaves mine as he silently waits for me to
respond.
“A rider may only bring to the quadrant the items they can carry—” I
start.
“Are you quoting the Codex to me?” Amber shouts.
“—and they shall not be separated from those items no matter what they
may be,” I continue. “For once carried across the parapet, they are
considered part of their person. Article Three, Section Six, Addendum B.”
Her blue eyes flare wide as I glance at her. “That addendum was written
to make thievery an executional offense.”
“Correct.” I nod, looking between her and the onyx eyes that see straight
through me. “But in doing so, it gave any item carried across the parapet the
status of being a part of the rider.” I unsheathe the chipped and battered
blade with a sharp bite of pain in my palms. “This isn’t a challenge blade.
It’s one I carried across and therefore considered part of myself.”
His eyes flare, and I don’t miss the hint of a smirk on that infuriatingly
decadent mouth of his. It should be against the Codex to look that good and
be so ruthless.
“The right way isn’t the only way.” I use his own words against him.
Xaden holds my gaze. “She has you, Amber.”
“On a technicality!”
“She still has you.” He turns slightly and delivers a look that I never want
directed at me.
“You think like a scribe,” she barks at me.
It’s intended as an insult, but I just nod. “I know.”
She marches off, and I sheathe the dagger again, letting my hands fall to
my sides and closing my eyes as relief shucks the weight from my
shoulders. I did it. I passed another test.
“Sorrengail,” Xaden says, and my eyes fly open. “You’re leaking.” His
gaze drops pointedly to my hands.
Where blood is dripping from my fingertips.
Pain erupts, pushing past my mental dam like a raging river at the sight of
the mess I’ve made of my palms. I’ve shredded them.
“Do something about it,” he orders.
I nod and back away, joining my squad. Rhiannon helps me cut off the
sleeves of my shirt to bandage my hands, and I cheer our last two
squadmates up the cliff.
We all make it.