"Fourth Wing"

[fiefoe]

Don't remember the last book that mixes romance with an R and adventure so thoroughly. Hope Rebecca Yarros is working hard on the sequel right now.

• “Because scribes are so far beneath riders?” I grumble, knowing perfectly well that riders are the top of the social and military hierarchy. It helps that their bonded dragons roast people for fun.
• “You scored in the top quarter for speed and agility during the entrance exam. You’ll do just fine. All Sorrengails do just fine.” She skims the backs of her fingers down my cheek, barely grazing my skin. “So much like your father,” she whispers before clearing her throat and backing up a few steps. <> Guess there are no meritorious service awards for emotional availability.
• She nods. “Mom says General Melgren’s dragon did it to all of them when he executed their parents, but she wasn’t exactly open to further discussion on the topic. Nothing like punishing the kids to deter more parents from committing treason.” <> It seems…cruel, but the first rule of living at Basgiath is never question a dragon. They tend to cremate anyone they find rude.
• I can almost taste the loathing wafting off him like a bitter cologne.
• I need something to keep the logical side of my brain from turning around and walking straight back to the turret. <> “The Continent is home to two kingdoms—and we’ve been at war for four hundred years,” I recite,
• Everyone else is simply a cadet before Threshing—when the dragons choose who they will bond—and a rider after. People die too often around here to hand out ranks prematurely.
• Gryphons from Poromiel also share the ability, but dragons are the only ones capable of powering the wards that make all other magic but their own impossible within our borders. They’re the reason Navarre’s borders are somewhat circular—their power radiates from the Vale and can only extend so far, even with squads stationed at every outpost.
• My breath catches. No wonder Xaden can wield shadows—shadows that can yank daggers out of trees, shadows that can probably throw those same daggers. And yet…he let me live. I shove the kernel of warmth that thought gives me far, far away.
• the last obstacle that looks like a ninety-degree ramp from this angle—“the stamina you’ll need to fight on the ground, then still be able to mount your dragon at a second’s notice.” <> The posts knock a chunk of granite loose, and the rock tumbles down the course, smacking every obstacle in its path until it crashes twenty feet in front of us. If there was ever a metaphor for my life, well…that’s it.
• “I know. It’s why you’re still alive.” He holds my gaze locked with his. “Here’s the thing, Sorrengail. Hope is a fickle, dangerous thing. It steals your focus and aims it toward the possibilities instead of keeping it where it belongs—on the probabilities.”
• “It’s going to happen over and over again. It’s the nature of what happens here. What makes you a rider is what you do after people die. You want to know why you’re still alive? Because you’re the scale I currently judge myself against every night. Every day I let you live, I get to convince myself that there’s still a part of me that’s a decent person. So if you want to quit, then please, spare me the temptation and fucking quit. But if you want to do something, then do it.”
• He’d protected me when I needed and taught me to defend myself so I wouldn’t require protection forever. <> And when others are quick to stand in front of me, Xaden always stands at my side, trusting me to hold my own.
• “What the fuck are you doing out here?” he asks, locking his hands on my waist. He’s in riding leathers, not a dress uniform, and he’s never looked better. <> What am I doing out here? I’m risking everything to reach him. And if he rejects me… No. There’s no room for fear on the parapet.
• My jaw drops. “After I just shattered your window?”
  He smiles and shrugs. “I’ve got us covered just in case you decide to take out the dresser next.”
  I gaze down at his body, and the craving for him ignites again. How could it not when he looks like the gods blessed him and feels like the gods blessed me?
• “Fine. Were I to believe venin exist and roam the Continent wielding dark magic, then I’d also have to believe they never attack Navarre because…” My eyes widen at the possibility’s logical conclusion. “Because our wards make all non-dragon magic impossible.”
  “Yes.” He shifts his weight. “They’d be powerless the second they cross into Navarre.”
  Fuck, that makes sense, and I desperately don’t want it to. “Which means I would have to believe that we have no clue that Poromiel is being relentlessly, viciously attacked by dark wielders just beyond our borders.” My brow furrows.
  He glances away and takes a deep breath before looking me in the eye. “Or you have to believe that we know and choose to do nothing about it.”
  Indignation lifts my chin. “Why the hell would we choose to do nothing about people being slaughtered? It goes against everything we stand for.”
  “Because the only thing that kills venin is the very thing powering our wards.”
• “Tairn?” It’s not just me going to war.
  “We will feast on their bones, Silver One.”
  Graphic, but point made.