We are thrilled to be revealing the cover for Fourth Wing by Rebecca Yarros! Releasing on May 2nd 2023 and launching Red Tower Books—a New Adult fiction imprint focused on romantic fantasy and science fiction genres—enter the brutal and elite world of a war college for dragon riders from USA Today bestselling author Rebecca Yarros.
Fourth Wing is available to pre-order now, so read on to discover the cover and an exciting excerpt!
“You’re all cadets now.” Xaden’s voice carries out over the courtyard, stronger than the others. “Take a look at your squad. These are the only people guaranteed by Codex not to kill you. But just because they can’t end your life doesn’t mean others won’t. You want a dragon? Earn one.”
Most of the others cheer, but I keep my mouth shut.
Sixty-seven people fell or died in some other way today. Sixty-seven just like Dylan, whose parents would either collect their bodies or watch them be buried at the foot of the mountain under a simple stone. I can’t force myself to cheer for their loss.
Xaden’s eyes find mine, and my stomach clenches before he looks away. “And I bet you feel pretty badass right now, don’t you, first-years?”
More cheers.
“You feel invincible after the parapet, don’t you?” Xaden shouts. “You think you’re untouchable! You’re on the way to becoming the elite! The few! The chosen!”
Another round of cheers goes up with each declaration, louder and louder.
No. That’s not just cheering, it’s the sound of wings beating the air into submission.
“Oh gods, they’re beautiful,” Rhiannon whispers at my side as they come into view—a riot of dragons.
I’ve spent my life around dragons, but always from a distance. They don’t tolerate humans they haven’t chosen. But these eight? They’re flying straight for us—at speed.
Just when I think they’re about to fly overhead, they pitch vertically, whip the air with their huge semitranslucent wings, and stop, the gusts of wing-made wind so powerful that I nearly stagger backward as they land on the outer semicircular wall. Their chest scales ripple with movement, and their razor-sharp talons dig into the edge of the wall on either side. Now I understand why the walls are ten feet thick. It’s not a barrier. The edge of the fortress is a damned perch.
My mouth drops open. In my five years of living here, I’ve never seen this, but then again, I’ve never been allowed to watch what happens on Conscription Day.
A few cadets scream.
Guess everyone wants to be a dragon rider until they’re actually twenty feet away from one.
Steam blasts my face as the navy-blue one directly in front of me exhales through its wide nostrils. Its glistening blue horns rise above its head in an elegant, lethal sweep, and its wings flare momentarily before tucking in, the tip of their top joint crowned by a single fierce talon. Their tails are just as fatal, but I can’t see them at this angle or even tell which breed of dragon each is without that clue.
All are deadly.
“We’re going to have to bring the masons in again,” Dain mutters as chunks of rock crumble under the dragons’ grips, crashing to the courtyard in boulders the size of my torso.
There are three dragons in various shades of red, two shades of green—like Teine, Mira’s dragon—one brown like Mom’s, one orange, and the enormous navy one ahead of me. They’re all massive, overshadowing the structure of the citadel as they narrow their golden eyes at us in absolute judgment.
If they didn’t need us puny humans to develop signet abilities from bonding and weave the protective wards they power around Navarre, I’m pretty sure they’d eat us all and be done. But they like protecting the Vale—the valley behind Basgiath the dragons call home—from merciless gryphons and we like living, so here we are in the most unlikely of partnerships.
My heart threatens to beat out of my chest, and I absolutely agree with it, because I’d like to run, too. Just thinking that I’m supposed to ride one of these is fucking ludicrous.
A cadet bolts out of Third Wing, screaming as he makes a run for the stone keep behind us. We all turn to look as he sprints for the giant arched door at the center. I can almost see the words carved into the arch from here, but I already know them by heart. A dragon without its rider is a tragedy. A rider without their dragon is dead.
Once bonded, riders can’t live without their dragons, but most dragons can live just fine after us. It’s why they choose carefully, so they’re not humiliated by picking a coward, not that a dragon would ever admit to making a mistake.
The red dragon on the left opens its vast mouth, revealing teeth as big as I am. That jaw could crush me if it wanted, like a grape. Fire erupts along its tongue, then shoots outward in a macabre blaze toward the fleeing cadet.
He’s a pile of ash on the gravel before he can even make it to the shadow of the keep.
Sixty-eight dead.
Heat from the flames blasts the side of my face as I jerk my attention forward. If anyone else runs and is likewise executed, I don’t want to see it. More screaming sounds around me. I lock my jaw as hard as I can to keep quiet.
There are two more gusts of heat, one to my left and then another to my right.
Make that seventy.
The navy dragon seems to tilt its head at me, as if its narrowed golden eyes can see straight through me to the fear fisting my stomach and the doubt curled insidiously around my heart. I bet it can even see the wrap binding my knee. It knows I’m at a disadvantage, that I’m too small to climb its foreleg and mount, too frail to ride. Dragons always know.
But I will not run. I wouldn’t be standing here if I’d quit every time something seemed impossible to overcome. I will not die today. The words repeat in my head just like they had before the parapet and on it.
I force my shoulders back and lift my chin.
The dragon blinks, which might be a sign of approval, or boredom, and looks away.
“Anyone else feel like changing their mind?” Xaden shouts, scanning the remaining rows of cadets with the same shrewd gaze of the navy-blue dragon behind him. “No? Excellent. Roughly half of you will be dead by this time next summer.” The formation is silent except for a few untimely sobs from my left. “A third of you again the year after that, and the same your last year. No one cares who your mommy or daddy is here. Even King Tauri’s second son died during his Threshing. So tell me again: Do you feel invincible now that you’ve made it into the Riders Quadrant? Untouchable? Elite?”
No one cheers.
Another blast of heat rushes—this time directly at my face—and every muscle in my body clenches, preparing for incineration. But it’s not flames…just steam, and it blows back Rhiannon’s braids as the dragons finish their simultaneous exhale. The breeches on the first-year ahead of me darken, the color spreading down his legs.
They want us scared. Mission accomplished.
“Because you’re not untouchable or special to them.” Xaden points toward the navy dragon and leans forward slightly, like he’s letting us in on a secret as we lock eyes. “To them, you’re just the prey.”
Excerpted from Fourth Wing, by Rebecca Yarros. Red Tower Books, 2023. Reprinted with permission.
Alrighty then! This is going to be a feast for readers, too!