# CHAPTER 17: The Fall and the Rise
Hello everyone, it's me again! How are you all doing? Today I will continue to walk with you and review CHAPTER 17 of *Fourth Wing*. We've watched Violet Sorrengail survive the gauntlet, survive Threshing, and bond the most terrifying dragon in the quadrant. But now the real lesson begins: staying mounted. And, as always, the politics of Basgiath is a snake pit. So grab your flight leathers, hold tight to your pommel, and let's dive in.
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The morning after Threshing felt strange. Violet walked out of her room to find Rhiannon waiting with a grin, and the first good news of the day: no more breakfast duty. All the "less desirable" chores had been handed off to the unbonded, supposedly so the bonded riders could redirect their energy toward flight lessons. Violet knew exactly what that meant—another advantage gone. She had been relying on poison to weaken her opponents before challenges, and now she'd have to find another way. Xaden was right: she couldn't always count on poison. But she wasn't about to stop using the only edge she had.
Rhiannon, meanwhile, had clearly had a good night. "So, Sawyer, huh, Rhi?" Violet teased. Rhiannon's grin said it all. She shot a look back at Violet and asked why *she* hadn't been celebrating. Violet admitted the truth: she hadn't found anyone she wanted to celebrate with. But Rhiannon had heard rumors—something about a certain squad leader and a *moment*. Violet nearly tripped.
The entire quadrant had seen Xaden kiss her on the flight field. And Violet had to confess the painful truth: she had always hoped something would happen with Xaden, but when he kissed her, there was nothing there. Like. *Nothing.* Rhiannon was sympathetic and gracious about it, but the disappointment still stung.
They made their way toward the gathering hall, passing Liam Mairi walking with a first-year who had bonded a Brown Clubtail. It seemed everyone had celebrated except Violet. Then Ridoc forced his way between them, throwing his arms around their shoulders and announcing, "Or should I say, *riders*?" The word felt good. Better than "dead," anyway. Ridoc showed off his new dragon relic—a brown silhouette on his upper arm. Violet's was on her back, hidden. "That will keep you safer," Ridoc said, "if you're ever separated from that massive dragon of yours." He grinned.
They joined the breakfast line, and Violet nearly startled when she saw Oren behind the counter. The hatred in his gaze dripped like ice down her spine. She skipped his station entirely, grabbing fresh fruit she knew couldn't be tampered with. Ridoc muttered about how Oren and Jack had tried to kill her. Violet just shrugged. She was the weakest link, and people would always try to take her out. That was the way of the quadrant.
When they reached the Fourth Wing section, something bizarre happened. A couple of guys from Tail Section *scrambled* off their bench, offering it to them. "Sorry, Sorrengail!" they said as they fled. Rhiannon called it really freaking weird. Even weirder: across the hall, Jack Barlowe was being squeezed out of his table. Nobody would make room for him anywhere. The mighty had fallen. But Violet knew better than to feel satisfied—feral dogs bite harder when they're cornered.
Then a stocky girl from First Wing—the one Violet had beaten in a challenge—walked past and smiled at her. *Smiled.* She hadn't spoken to Violet since losing. When Violet whispered her confusion to Ridoc and Rhiannon, Imogen answered instead. The pink-haired second-year swung her leg over the bench and sat down across from them, revealing her rebellion relic. "It's because you bonded Tairn. The morning after Threshing is always a clusterfuck. Power balance shifts, and you, little Sorrengail, are now about to be the most powerful rider in the quadrant. Anyone with common sense is going to be scared of you."
The realization hit Violet like a brick. She scanned the hall and saw it: social groups had split, threats were repositioning, and suddenly everyone wanted to be on her side. Even Quinn, the tall second-year who had ignored Violet since Parapet, sat down with them. Heaton and Emery, the only third-years in their squad, joined too. The only missing faces were Dain and Cianna, eating with leadership as usual.
At the table, talk turned to the morning's losses. Heaton said Seifert should have bonded, but he'd cheated in challenges. Violet muttered, "He tried to kill Andarna," and every head turned. She guessed Tairn had told the other dragons. Ridoc asked about Jack's orange Scorpiontail—apparently, it was small, and Jack was already struggling with his social standing. Rhiannon noted he'd find other ways to make up for it.
Then Rhiannon nagged Violet to eat protein. Violet eyed the sausage suspiciously—Oren was behind the counter, and she trusted nothing. Imogen scraped three pieces onto her plate and shoved them toward her. Violet stared at the sausage. Imogen had *broken her arm* during assessment day. She hated Violet. But then Tairn's voice filled her head: *"You can trust her."* Violet dropped her orange. "She hates me." *"Stop arguing with me and eat something."* There was no room for debate. Violet cut a piece of sausage, popped it into her mouth, and chewed.
The conversation moved on. Rhiannon asked Emery about his signet—air manipulation, apparently, and the glasses rattled to prove it. Then Imogen made an announcement: "Sorrengail, after class is out today, you're mine. Meet me in the sparring gym." Violet was stunned. They already had sparring sessions with Rhiannon. But Imogen insisted: she was going to help Violet with weights, strengthening the muscles around her joints before challenges resumed. "We can't afford her to lose any challenges."
Violet demanded to know why Imogen suddenly cared. Imogen didn't answer with words. Instead, she shot a lightning-fast glance toward the dais where Xaden sat with his executive officer and section leaders. Violet understood immediately: this wasn't Imogen's idea. It was an order. And then the pieces clicked—Xaden Riorson was now in the business of keeping his mortal enemy alive.
Soon, morning formation announced the squad condensation. The groups were being trimmed, and the death roll was read. Violet and her fellow first-years stood on the flight field in new flight leathers—thick jackets, no patches, no names, nothing that could give them away behind enemy lines. Just sheaths for weapons. Violet tried not to think about the war as she watched the other cadets give Tairn a wide berth.
Kaori addressed the riders, projecting his voice. At only ninety-two riders, this was the smallest class to date. Forty-one unbonded remained, and Kaori warned them: their dragons knew the bond was weakest at this point. If they fell, if they failed, their dragons might choose to let them die if an unbonded rider was better. Violet muttered, "Comforting." Tairn made a sound that was practically a scoff.
Then Kaori sprinted toward his dragon, scaling its foreleg and climbing into the saddle. Violet looked at Tairn and realized she couldn't do that. Not with her ankle still healing. Tairn dipped his shoulder and made a ramp. Defeat washed over her—the biggest dragon in the quadrant had to accommodate her. But Tairn said, "They're accommodations for *me*. I've seen your memories. I'm not about to have you sticking daggers into my leg." Violet snorted and climbed up.
The first flight lesson was brutal. Kaori led them through a series of maneuvers, and Tairn made everything harder. Violet fell off. Again. And again. She plummeted toward the glacier, raw fear gripping her heart, but Tairn caught her in his claws every time, then tossed her back into the saddle. At one point, the disgusted roar in the back of her head translated roughly to "for fuck's sake." Violet argued that Tairn couldn't keep holding her in the seat forever—if he spent energy keeping her mounted, he wouldn't have power for battle. So he let go, and she slid off. Then he caught her. It happened again and again. But every time, Violet got back up, determined to do it herself. "Stubborn silver human," Tairn muttered.
That evening, sore and bruised, Violet headed to the sparring gym. Dain caught up with her in the hallway, concern etched on his face. He said he'd thought she'd be all right once Tairn chose her. Violet explained that she needed to strengthen her muscles. Then Dain brought up the kiss. "It never should have happened," he said. Violet felt relief—she thought he felt the same way. But then Dain continued: "It's not that I don't want you—" and she realized their wires were crossed. For Dain, it was about politics. Being in a relationship with someone in his chain of command would hurt his chances at becoming a wingleader. He even said maybe next year, after graduation, they could explore something.
Violet lost a little respect for him. It was all about rank to him, not about her. Before she could respond, Imogen appeared in the doorway, arms crossed, calling Violet away. Imogen led her into a hidden room with strange wooden machines, pulleys, racks, and benches. Garrick was there training a first-year, and nodded once to Violet. Imogen pointed to a machine with a polished wooden seat and cushioned blocks for her knees. "Since we can't work your ankle or your arms until they heal, we're going to start with the most important muscles you have for staying on a dragon." She looked down at Violet with obvious distaste. "Those weak-ass inner thighs."
Violet parked herself in the seat and asked flat out: "You're only doing this because Xaden is making you, right?" Imogen's eyes narrowed. "Rule number one. He's Riorson to you, first-year, and you never get to question me about him. Ever." Violet thought that made two rules, but she kept her mouth shut. She watched Imogen pull a lever, putting tension on the wooden blocks, and they rushed outward, separating her thighs. "Now get to work. Push them back together. Thirty reps."
It was going to be a long night.
The next morning, Violet pushed a squeaky library cart across the bridge, through the Healer Quadrant, and into the heart of Basgiath. The scent of earth and stone greeted her as she descended to the Archives—her home away from home, the place she had spent five years before becoming a rider. The scribe at the entrance jumped up to open the vault-like door. "Good morning, Cadet Sorrengail." She smiled, pushing the cart through. The Archives smelled like parchment, book-bind glue, and ink. They smelled like home. Row after row of towering shelves stretched before her, and Violet soaked in the sight, waiting by the table nearest the entrance. Only scribes could pass any farther, and she was a rider now. But for a moment, she let herself remember who she had been.
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## Reader's Impressions & Star Rating
What a beautifully layered chapter! We see Violet's political rise as the most powerful rider in the quadrant, and yet she still doesn't feel strong enough—literally falling off her dragon over and over. The relationship complexity with Xaden, Dain, and even Imogen is fascinating. Imogen's "training" scene is both funny and tense, and the final moment in the Archives reminds us of the woman Violet used to be. The action, the politics, the heartbreak, the humor—everything shines here.
⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ Rating: 4.8 / 5 Stars
## Next Chapter Prediction
I think we're about to see Violet push her physical limits with Imogen's training, and she's going to need that strength sooner than she thinks. With the unbonded riders desperate for a dragon, and Jack Barlowe humiliated and cornered, revenge is brewing. Xaden is keeping a very close eye on Violet—and not just for political reasons. I predict she'll finally start to hold her seat on Tairn, but someone will make a deadly move against her soon, and Xaden's true motives will start to crack open.
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