Fourth Wing (The Empyrean #1)

In the event that you come across a poison you do not recognize, it is best to treat with any and every antidote. Either way, the patient will die, but at least this way you would have learned something.

—Major Frederick’s Modern Guide for Healers

I think I might die today.

Air rushes by and my stomach feels like it’s somewhere above me.

Because I’m falling.

Endlessly falling.

Tairn roars, and it’s the panic, the pitch of that bellow that forces my eyes open just long enough to see him diving for me, but I can’t feel him in my head, can’t feel my feet on the Archives floor, can’t access my power. I’m cut off, no longer grounded.

My back slams into something, knocking the breath from my lungs, slowing my descent but not stopping it, and shimmering gold rises and ebbs around me. Wind stills, the cries of mayhem and destruction pause, but the burn inside rages on, consuming me with fiery teeth. Time.

Andarna has stopped time with what strength she has left.

I’m on her back, falling…because she isn’t strong enough to carry me, but she’s brave enough to fly into this battle. Now my eyes are burning, too. She shouldn’t be here. She should be tucked away in the outpost, safe from the wyvern three times her size.

Are there any wyvern left? Did we get them all?

When time starts again, wind whipping at my exposed skin, I slip from her back and am gathered close by strong human arms.

“Violet.” I know that deep, panicked voice. Xaden. But I can’t move, can’t even force my lips apart to scream with the pain of it all when he puts pressure on the wound. “Fuck, it must be poison. You have to fight it.”

Poison. The green-tipped dagger.

But what poison could paralyze me not only physically but magically?

“I’ll take care of you. Just…just live. Please live.”

Of course he wants me to live. I’m integral to his survival.

It takes all my strength, but I manage to lift my eyelids for a second, and the blatant fear in his eyes jolts my heart before I lose consciousness.

…

“Maybe it isn’t poison,” someone says in a deep voice as I wake but can’t pry my eyes open. Garrick, maybe? Gods, everything hurts. “Maybe it’s magic.”

“Did you see the way she whipped that lightning straight at that venin’s head?” someone asks.

“Not now,” Bodhi practically growls. “She saved your fucking life. She saved all our lives.”

But I didn’t. Soleil and…Liam are dead.

“Her blood is fucking black,” Xaden snaps and his arms tighten, holding me to his chest.

“It has to be poison,” Imogen cries—a sound I’ve never heard from her. “Look at it! We have to get her back to Basgiath. Nolon might be able to help.”

Yes. Nolon. They need to take me to Nolon. But I can’t say it, can’t make my lips move, can’t even reach out along the mental pathways that have become as familiar to me as breathing. Being cut off from Tairn, from Andarna…from Xaden is a torture all on its own.

“That’s a twelve-hour flight.” Xaden’s voice rises. “And I’m pretty sure her arm is broken.”

I’ll be dead in twelve hours. The promise of sweet oblivion already hovers at the edge of my consciousness, a promise of peace if I agree to just let go.

“There’s somewhere closer,” Xaden says quietly, and I feel his fingers skim over my cheek. The motion is unnervingly tender.

Another wave of fire consumes me, singeing every nerve, but all I can do is lie there and take it.

Make it stop. Gods, make it stop.

“You can’t be serious.” Someone’s voice lowers to a hiss.

“You’ll put everything at risk,” Garrick warns as sleep tugs at me, the only escape from the searing pain.

Tairn bellows so loudly, my rib cage vibrates. At least he’s close.

“I wouldn’t say that again,” Imogen mutters, “or he’ll probably eat you. And don’t forget, if she dies, there’s a damn good chance Xaden does, too.”

“I’m not saying he shouldn’t, just reminding him what the stakes are,” Garrick replies.

Can Tairn feel the disconnect between us? Is he suffering the same way I am? Was the sword poisoned, too? Can Andarna fly? Or does she need to sleep?

Sleep. That’s what I want. Cool, blissful, empty sleep.

“I don’t give a fuck what happens to me!” Xaden yells at someone. “We are going and that’s an order.”

“No need for orders, man. We’ll save her.” That’s Bodhi. I think.

“Live up to your nickname and fight this, Violence,” Xaden whispers against my ear. Then he says louder, to someone farther away, “We have to get her to him. We ride.” I feel the shift as he begins to walk, but the agony of movement against the wound is too much, and I fade into blackness.

…

Hours pass before I wake again. Maybe seconds. Maybe days. Maybe it’s forever and I’ve been sentenced to an eternity of torture by Malek for my sheer recklessness, but I can’t bring myself to regret saving them.

Maybe it’s better if I die. But then Xaden might die.

Whatever is wedged between us right now, I don’t want him dead. I’ll never want that.

A steady rush of wind at my face and the rhythmic beat of wings tells me we’re flying, and it takes all the energy I have to lift a single eyelid as we pass over the Cliffs of Dralor. The thousand-foot drop is unmistakable. It’s what made the Tyrrish rebellion not only possible but nearly successful.

The poison scorches every vein, every nerve ending in my body as it runs through me unchecked, slowing my heartbeat. Even the irony that I’m going to die by poison, something I have unparalleled knowledge of, can’t make me muster the energy to speak, to offer any thoughts on an antidote. How can I when I don’t even know what’s been used on me? Until a few hours ago, I didn’t even know venin existed outside fables, and now there’s nothing but pain and death.

It’s only a matter of time, and mine is short.

…

Death would be preferable to existing for another second in this pyre of a body, but it’s apparently a mercy I’m not allowed as I’m jostled awake.

Air. There’s not enough air. My lungs struggle to inhale.

“You’re sure about this?” Imogen asks.

Each step Xaden takes brings a new wave of agony that starts in my side and ripples through my whole body.

“Stop fucking asking him that,” Garrick snaps. “He made his decision. Support him or get the fuck out, Imogen.”

“And it’s a bad one,” another man retorts.

“When you have a hundred and seven scars on your back, then you get to make the fucking decisions, Ciaran,” Bodhi snarls.

Tairn’s roar startles me, and I twitch, which only intensifies the already indescribable torture racking my body now.

“What was that?” Garrick asks from somewhere to the left.

“He basically said that he’ll cook me alive if I fail,” Xaden replies, holding me closer. I guess that part of the bond is still in place. My cheek falls against his shoulder, and I swear I feel him brush a kiss over my forehead, but that can’t be right.

You don’t keep secrets from someone you care about, let alone secrets that are going to cost me my life any second if the stuttering beat of my heart is any indication.

It’s struggling to pump the liquid fire that’s cauterizing my veins.

Gods, I wish he’d just let me die.

I deserve it. I’m the reason Liam is dead. I’m so weak-minded that I didn’t even realize Dain took my memories and used them against me—against Liam.

“You have to fight, Vi,” Xaden whispers against my forehead as we move. “You can hate me all you want when you wake up. You can scream, hit, throw your fucking daggers at me for all I care, but you have to live. You can’t make me fall for you and then die. None of this is worth it without you.” He sounds so sincere that I almost believe him.

Which is exactly what got me into this situation in the first place.

“Xaden?” a familiar voice calls out, but I can’t place it. Bodhi, maybe? One of the second years? So many strangers. And no friends.

Liam is dead.

“You have to save her.”