# CHAPTER 6: A Mending That Breaks, And A Brother's Ghost
Hello everyone, it's me again! How are you all doing? I hope you're ready, because today I will continue to walk with you and review CHAPTER 6 of *Fourth Wing*. And trust me—this is a chapter that will make you wince, make your chest ache, and then leave you grinning in the dark like you just discovered a secret weapon. We left Violet battered, her arm broken, her shoulder dislocated, and her best friend Dain arguing with every healer in sight. Now let's step back into that infirmary, where pain, pride, and a brother's love are about to collide.
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The door swings open, and the familiar face of Winifred—a healer who has patched up Violet far too many times over the years—goes pale the moment she sees her.
"Another injury? You riders certainly are trying to fill our beds to— Oh no, Violet?" Her eyes fly wide.
"Hi, Winifred," Violet manages through a wave of agony.
Winifred springs into action, leading them to an empty cot in the long, buzzing infirmary hall. Half the beds are already filled with riders in black, victims of the brutal assessment day. But healers don't have magic—they rely on tinctures and steady hands. The real miracle workers are the menders, riders with the rare signet that can restore anything to its original state. And there's only one mender at Basgiath that Violet trusts with her life: Nolon, the man who's been gluing her brittle bones back together for five years.
Violet's brother Brennan was a mender too—an exceptional one, destined for greatness. But Brennan died. And his loss still haunts every ache in her body.
As Winifred presses a weathered hand to Violet's forehead, she orders Helen, a passing healer, to fetch Nolon.
"No!" Dain barks, panic lacing his voice. *Excuse me?*
Winifred gives the middle-aged healer a deceptively calm stare. "Helen, this is Violet Sorrengail, and if Nolon finds out she was here and you didn't call him, well... that's on you."
"Sorrengail?" Helen's voice jumps an octave.
Violet barely tracks the exchange. The room begins to spin, the throbbing in her shoulder turning into a pulse of pure fire. She wants to ask Dain why he's insisting against the mender, but a fresh wave of pain threatens to drag her under.
"Get Nolon or he will let his dragon eat you alive, sour face and all," Winifred says, arching a silver eyebrow at Dain, who keeps insisting—again and again—that the mender shouldn't be called.
The woman blanches and disappears.
Dain drags a wooden chair to Violet's bedside. His voice is strained, a plea hiding beneath its calm. "Violet, I know you're hurting, but maybe..."
"Maybe what, Dain Aetos? You want to see her suffer?" Winifred cuts him off, then mutters to herself, shaking her head. "I told her they'd break you. Would she listen? Absolutely not. Your mother is so damned stubborn."
Winifred gently raises Violet's arm, a few inches, prods her shoulder. The wince that escapes Violet's lips says everything.
"Well, that's certainly broken. And it looks like we need a surgeon for that shoulder. What happened?" Winifred asks Dain.
"Sparring," Violet says in one breath.
"You hush. Save your energy." Winifred turns back to Dain. "Make yourself useful, boy, and pull the curtain around us. The fewer people who see her injured, the better."
Dain jumps to his feet and draws the blue fabric, sealing them into a small, private cocoon away from the other riders.
"Drink this." Winifred pulls out a vial of amber liquid from her belt. "It will handle the pain while we get you sorted."
"You can't ask him to mend her," Dain protests as she uncorks it.
"The pair of us have been mending her for the past five years. Don't start telling me what I can and cannot do." She brings the vial closer.
Dain slides one hand under Violet's back, the other under her head, propping her up just enough to swallow the bitter tonic. It's as awful as always, but she knows it'll work. He eases her back down, then turns to Winifred with a tight jaw.
"I don't want her in pain—that's why we're here. But if she's injured this severely, surely we can see if the scribes will take her as a late admission. It's only been a day."
The realization hits Violet like a cold splash of water. He wants to use this injury to get her out of the Riders Quadrant. Her anger pierces through the pain, sharp and immediate.
"I'm not going to the scribes."
But the tonic is already racing through her veins, a pleasant hum that distances her from the agony. The world slips in and out of focus, and she loses a few minutes entirely.
Then the curtain whips back, and in walks Nolon, leaning heavily on his cane. He smiles at his wife, his bright white teeth contrasting his brown skin.
"You sent for me, my—" His smile falters the instant he sees Violet. "Violet?"
"Hi, Nolon." She forces a smile. "I'd wave, but one of my arms doesn't work and the other feels reallllly heavy." *Good gods, am I slurring my words?*
"Leigheas serum." Winifred gives her husband a crooked smile.
"She's with you, Dain?" Nolon turns an accusing look on the young squad leader.
"I'm her squad leader," Dain replies, scooting out of the way. "Putting her under my command was the only thing I could think of to keep her safe."
"Not doing such a good job, are you?" Nolon's eyes narrow.
"It was assessment day for hand-to-hand. Imogen—she's a second-year—dislocated Violet's shoulder and broke her arm."
"On assessment day?" Nolon growls, cutting away the sleeve of Violet's shirt with his dagger. The man is eighty-four and still dressed in rider black, all his weapons sheathed.
"Her mother wassss one of Fennnn Riorson's sssepara—sssepara—sssseparatisssts," Violet tries to explain, her tongue thick and useless. "And I'mmmmmma Sorrengail, so I get it."
"I don't." Nolon grumbles. "I've never agreed with the way they conscripted those kids to the Riders Quadrant as punishment for the sins of their parents. We have never forced conscripts into that quadrant. Ever. And for a very good reason. Most cadets don't survive—which was likely the point, I suspect. Regardless, you certainly shouldn't have to suffer for the honor of your mother. General Sorrengail saved Navarre by capturing the Great Betrayer."
"So you won't mend her, right?" Dain asks softly, so he can't be heard outside the curtain. "I'm just asking that the healers do their work and let nature take the time it needs. No magic. She doesn't stand a chance if she goes back in there in a cast or has to defend herself while her shoulder heals from reconstruction surgery. The last one took her four months. This is our chance to get her out of the Riders Quadrant while she's still breathing."
Violet's heart sinks. He's not being cruel—he's terrified. He's been watching her break his whole life. But she won't let fear steal her choice.
"I'm not going to the sibes." So much for not slurring. "Sibes," she tries again. "SIBES." *Oh, fuck it.* "Mend me."
"I will always mend you," Nolon promises.
"Just. This. Once." She concentrates on every word. "If. The others. See I need. Mending. All the time, they'll. Think. I'm weak."
"Which is why we have to use this opportunity to get you out!" Panic rises in Dain's voice. "Walking out of here and going straight to the Scribe Quadrant is your best chance at survival."
But Violet glares at him, choosing her words carefully. "I'm not. Leaving the riders. Just so Mom. Can throw me back. I'm. Staying." She turns her head, the room spinning, and locks eyes with Nolon. "Mend me... but just this once."
"You know it's going to hurt like hell and will still ache for a couple of weeks, right?" Nolon asks, sitting down beside her bed.
She nods. This isn't her first mending. For someone born brittle as glass, the pain of mending is second only to the pain of the original injury. Basically another Tuesday.
"Please, Vi," Dain begs quietly. "Please switch quadrants. If not for you, then for me—because I didn't step in fast enough. I should have stopped her. I can't protect you."
Violet wishes she'd figured out his plan before taking the potion, so she could explain better. None of this is his fault. But he'll carry the blame anyway, like he always does. Instead, she takes a deep breath and says the only thing that matters.
"I made my choice."
"Get back to the quadrant, Dain," Nolon orders without looking up. "If she was any other first-year, you would already be gone."
Dain's anguished gaze holds hers, and she insists, "Go. I'll find you at formation in the morning." She doesn't want him to see this.
He swallows the defeat, nods once, and slips through the curtains without another word. Violet can only hope her choice today doesn't destroy her best friend later.
"Ready?" Nolon asks, his hands hovering above her shoulder.
"Bite down." Winifred holds a strap of leather in front of her mouth, and Violet takes it between her teeth.
"Here we go," Nolon mutters. He lifts his hands, brow furrowed in concentration, then makes a twisting motion.
White-hot agony erupts in her shoulder. Her teeth slice into the leather as she screams, bearing down for one heartbeat, then two—before blacking out.
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The barracks are nearly full when Violet returns later that night, her throbbing right arm cradled in a light-blue sling. A sling that screams *weak*. *Breakable*. *Liability to the wing*. If she breaks this easily on the mat, what's going to happen when she climbs on the back of a dragon?
The sun has long gone down, but the hall glows with soft mage lights as the other first-year women prepare for bed. Violet offers a smile to a girl holding a blood-speckled cloth to her swollen lip. The girl returns it with a wince. She counts three empty bunks in her row. That doesn't mean those cadets are dead, right? They could be in the Healer Quadrant, just like she was. Or in the bathing chambers.
"You're here!" Rhiannon jumps off her bed, relief flooding her eyes and smile. "I'm here," Violet assures her. "I'm already down one shirt, but I'm here."
"You can get another at central issue tomorrow." Rhiannon looks like she might hug her, but then she glimpses the sling and backs up a step, sitting on the edge of her bunk. "How bad is it?"
"It's going to hurt for the next few days, but I'll be fine as long as I keep it immobilized. I'll be all healed up before we start on-mat challenges." *Two weeks.* That's the timeline. Two weeks to figure out how to keep this from happening again.
"I'll help you get ready," Rhiannon promises. "You're the only friend I have in here, so I'd rather you didn't die when it gets real."
"I'll try my best not to." Violet grins through the throbbing ache, then adds: "And I'll help you with history."
"We'll be unstoppable," Rhiannon declares.
But Violet's left hand, bracing her weight, slides just beneath her pillow. There's something there.
She pulls out a small journal, with a folded note on top. Her name, *Violet*, in Mira's handwriting.
One-handed, she opens it.
*Violet,*
*I stayed long enough to read the rolls this morning, and you aren't on them, thank gods. I can't stay. I'm needed back with my wing, and even if I could stay, they wouldn't let me see you anyway. I bribed a scribe to sneak this into your bunk. I hope you know how proud I am to be your sister. Brennan wrote this for me the summer before I entered the quadrant. It saved me, and it can save you, too. I added my own bits of hard-earned wisdom here and there, but mostly it's his, and I know he'd want you to have it. He'd want you to live.*
*Love, Mira.*
Violet swallows past the knot in her throat and sets the note aside.
"What is it?" Rhiannon asks.
"It's my brother's." The words barely make it past her lips. Mother burned everything he owned after he died, as tradition dictates. She hasn't seen the bold strokes of his handwriting in ages, and yet here they are, fresh and alive. Grief sweeps through her like a wave. "The book of Brennan," she reads along the first page, then flips to the second.
*Mira,*
*You're a Sorrengail, so you will survive. Perhaps not as spectacularly as I have, but we all can't live up to my standards, can we? All kidding aside, this is everything I've learned. Keep it safe. Keep it hidden. You have to live, because Violet is watching. You can't let her see you fall.*
*Brennan.*
Tears prick Violet's eyes, but she blinks them back. "It's just his journal," she lies, thumbing through the pages. She can hear his quippy, sarcastic tone in every word, see him standing there, winking as he makes light of every danger. *Damn, I miss him.* "He died five years ago."
"Oh, that's..." Rhiannon leans in, eyes heavy with sympathy. "We don't always burn everything, either. Sometimes it's nice to have something, you know?"
"Yeah," Violet whispers. It's *everything*. And she knows Mom will toss it in the fire if she ever finds it.
Rhiannon opens her history book, and Violet falls back into Brennan's history, starting on the third page.
*You survived Parapet. Good. Be observant the next few days, and don't do anything to draw attention to yourself. I've sketched a map that shows you not only where the classrooms are but where the instructors meet, too. I know you're nervous about challenges, but you shouldn't be, not with that right hook of yours. The matches might seem random, but they're not. What the instructors don't tell you is that they decide challenges the week before, Mira. Any cadet can request a challenge, yes, but instructors will assign your matches based on weeding out the weakest. That means once the real hand-to-hand starts, the instructors already know who you'll be up against that day. Here's the secret—if you know where to look and can get out without being seen, you'll know who you're fighting so you can prepare.*
Violet sucks in a breath and devours the rest of the entry. Hope blossoms in her chest. If she knows who she's fighting, she can begin the battle before they even step on the mat. Her mind spins, a plan taking shape.
Two weeks. Two weeks to gather everything she needs before challenges begin. And no one knows the grounds of Basgiath like she does. It's all here—every hidden path, every instructor's secret haunt, every corner of this ancient school.
A slow smile spreads across her face. *I know how to survive.*
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Days pass. The moon hangs full and bright over Basgiath, illuminating the waist-high grass along the Iakobos River. Violet creeps after curfew, sweltering in a heavy cloak, her satchel tight over her sling. She stumbles on a rock and mutters under her breath.
The river rushes with summer runoff, fast and deadly this time of year. No wonder that first-year died when he fell in during downtime. Since Parapet, their squad is the only one in the quadrant not to lose anyone—but she knows that's unlikely to last in this ruthless school.
She moves closer to the ancient line of oaks, where she knows one vine of fonilee berries will be coming into season soon. Ripe, they're tart and barely edible. But picked prematurely and left to dry, they make an excellent weapon. Nine nights of sneaking out have built her a growing arsenal, and this is exactly why she brought the book of poisons with her.
The future is fragile. But Violet Sorrengail has never been one to give up. She has her brother's words burning in her chest, her sister's love in her hands, and a plan taking root in her heart.
Let them underestimate her. Let them break her bones. She'll just keep mending, keep learning, keep fighting.
Because she is a Sorrengail.
And Sorrengails survive.
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## Reader's Impressions & Star Rating
This chapter is an emotional gut-punch wrapped in a spark of hope. Watching Violet argue with Dain about her own future—while he begs her to choose a safer path—is both heartbreaking and infuriating. You want to shake him, but you also understand his fear. Nolon's loyalty, Winifred's bluntness, and the raw pain of the mending scene all pull you deep into Violet's world. Then Mira's note and Brennan's journal arrive like a gift from the gods, and suddenly the story transforms from pure survival to strategy. The final scene of Violet sneaking out to gather poison berries while the addendums about rebellion relics flash like warnings is a perfect setup. A brilliant, painful, empowering chapter.
⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ Rating: 4.8 / 5 Stars
## Next Chapter Prediction
Violet now knows the secret of the challenge assignments—and she's gathering weapons in secret. I predict she'll use Brennan's map to spy on the instructors, discover her first opponent, and prepare in a way no one expects. But with the new addendums targeting marked ones, tension is building between the conscripted rebellion children and the rest of the quadrant. Watch out for an explosive confrontation—and maybe Violet will surprise everyone by making a dangerous ally among the marked ones. The real battle is just beginning.
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