Fourth Wing by Rebecca Yarros Review

Navarre teeters on a razor’s edge, a kingdom stitched from old magic and fresh wounds. Its cliffs rise sharp against a sky heavy with secrets, the air thick with the tang of sulfur and the distant roar of wings. Here, dragons rule—beasts of scale and flame that bond with riders brave or mad enough to face them. Basgiath War College looms at the heart of it, a stone fortress where the Riders Quadrant churns out warriors or corpses, no in-between. This is the world of Fourth Wing, Rebecca Yarros’s 2023 fever dream of a fantasy, where power crackles like a storm and survival is a gamble with teeth.

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Violet Sorrengail steps into this crucible, a twenty-year-old with silver-tipped hair and a body that aches like it’s made of cracked glass. She’s the youngest of General Sorrengail, a woman carved from ice and iron, who’s decided her scribe-trained daughter belongs not among books but atop a dragon. Conscription Day dawns, and Violet’s dread is a living thing, clawing at her gut as she faces the parapet—a slick stone bridge dangling over a chasm that’s swallowed stronger souls. Xaden Riorson waits beyond it, a third-year wingleader with shadows in his eyes and a rebellion relic snaking across his skin. His father died under her mother’s blade, and his hatred hums like a drawn bowstring. What unfolds is a brutal ballet—trust fraying like thread, love blooming in the ash, and a truth that could unravel everything.

A Step Into the Abyss

Violet wasn’t built for this. Years bent over scrolls left her sharp as a quill but fragile, her joints popping, her knees bruised from falls she never speaks of. Her sister Mira, a rider with steel in her spine, braids her hair and swaps her soft boots for rugged ones, whispering, “Decide, Violet. Are you going to die a scribe? Or live as a rider?” The courtyard buzzes with farewells—parents clutching sons, lovers trading promises—but Violet’s alone, save for Mira’s fierce gaze. She steps onto the parapet, wind lashing her face, rain turning the stone to treachery. A boy falls, his scream swallowed by the ravine, and Xaden’s voice cuts through: “Why would I waste my energy killing you when the parapet will do it for me?” She crosses anyway, legs trembling, defiance burning.

The Riders Quadrant doesn’t ease up. Jack Barlowe, a blond brute with a grin like a blade, lunges at her, convinced she’s a weak link. She presses a dagger to his groin, spitting Codex rules until he backs off, eyes promising murder. Dragons loom in the courtyard, their golden eyes judging. Tairn, a black beast with a growl that shakes the earth, chooses her—then Andarna, a golden feathertail, binds too, her time-stopping gift a secret nestled in Violet’s chest. Xaden watches, his Blue Daggertail, Sgaeyl, a shadow at his side. He’s wingleader of Fourth Wing, and soon she’s under his command, a pawn in a game she doesn’t yet understand.

A Gauntlet of Blood and Bonds

Training is a meat grinder. The Gauntlet—a cliffside nightmare of ropes and spikes—tests her, her arms screaming as she claws up the chimney formation, dagger biting stone for grip. She’s clever, though, poisoning foes with fonilee berries, their collapse her victory. Rhiannon, a first-year with a boxer’s grace, becomes her rock, their friendship a lifeline in a sea of sneers. Dain Aetos, her childhood friend turned squad leader, hovers—too protective, his hazel eyes pleading her to flee to the Scribe Quadrant. She won’t. She can’t. Not when Tairn’s voice rumbles in her mind, urging her to rise.

Xaden’s a riddle wrapped in a threat. She catches him by the river, marked cadets whispering of venin—creatures of corrupted magic draining Navarre’s life, a secret the wards hide. He knows she saw, helps her anyway, sliding daggers into her hands with a murmured, “Survive.” Their history tangles them—her mother’s executioner, his father’s killer—and yet his gaze lingers, dark and unreadable. Sparring sessions strip him bare, his relic a map of scars across muscle, and Violet’s heart stumbles. Hate shouldn’t feel like this, shouldn’t spark like flint on steel.

The War Games crack it all open. Gryphon riders crash in, claiming a village fell to venin, and Xaden’s been arming them. Violet’s loyalty splits—Navarre’s lies or Xaden’s truth? Liam, her bodyguard with a grin too bright, dies shielding her, and grief rips her open. Lightning bursts from her hands, a signet born of fury, Tairn’s pride a thunderclap in her skull. The wards flicker, dragons thin, and the unbonded turn feral. She fights, blood streaking her face, Andarna’s time-freeze her last card. Xaden’s there, shadows coiling, pulling her from the brink.

A Truth That Burns

The climax is chaos—sulfur and screams, the flight field a graveyard of feathers and steel. Violet learns the wards need dragon bonds to hold, and Navarre’s leaders buried the venin threat to keep power. Xaden’s rebellion isn’t treason; it’s survival. She confronts him, lightning crackling between them, and he doesn’t flinch. “Your mother captured my father and oversaw his execution,” he says, voice raw. “Yours killed my brother,” she fires back. They’re even, or as close as two bleeding hearts can get. He could kill her—should, by his code—but he doesn’t. Instead, he fights beside her, shadows and scales against a tide of claws.

She’s not the girl who crossed the parapet anymore. The Archives, once her haven, feel distant; books can’t shield her now. Jesinia, a scribe friend, mourns her shift, but Violet’s a rider—black uniform, daggers sheathed, hair a silver banner of her will. Dain’s pleas fade; he sees a ghost of who she was, not the woman wielding storms. Rhiannon’s fist bumps her shoulder, a silent “You’ve got this.” And Xaden… Xaden’s a pull she can’t name, a gravity that terrifies her. “It’s more than nice to see your face, Vi,” he admits, and the world tilts.

The end isn’t neat. The wards hold, barely, but venin lurk beyond. Violet’s lightning scars the earth, a promise and a warning. She’s bonded to Tairn and Andarna, a double-edged blade in a war creeping closer. Xaden’s secrets unravel—love, vengeance, a hope he buries deep—and she’s part of it, whether she likes it or not. Navarre’s a powder keg, and they’re the spark. The road ahead twists, dark and uncharted, but Violet walks it, chin high, her shadow stretching long beside his.

A Flame That Endures

Fourth Wing isn’t a fairy tale. It’s a gut punch—grief that chokes, rage that simmers, love that cuts deeper than any blade. Violet’s no damsel; she’s a storm in frail skin, outsmarting death with poison and wit. Xaden’s no prince; he’s a wounded wolf, all teeth and loyalty to a cause that might break him. Together, they’re a collision—messy, inevitable, alive. Yarros builds a world where power seduces and betrays, where dragons judge and borders bleed. Prejudice brands Violet a liability, but she carves her worth in lightning and blood. Trust is a gamble, survival a prayer, and duty wars with desire until neither wins clean.

This is her forging. From parapet to battlefield, Violet sheds the scribe, finds the rider. Xaden’s hate softens, not gone but reshaped, and their bond—fragile, fierce—holds against the dark. The venin wait, the wards crack, and Navarre’s lies rot at the core. But for now, she stands, breath ragged, hands sparking. It’s not over—not by a long shot—but she’s alive, and that’s enough. That’s everything.

Summary and Study Guides

Click here to get a high-quality chapter-by-chapter summary of Rebecca Yarros's book Fourth Wing, including chapter details and an analysis of the main themes from the original book.