The Golden Enclaves

Chapter 1

the yurt

The last thing Orion said to me, the absolute bastard, was El, I love you so much.

And then he shoved me backwards through the gates of the Scholomance and I landed thump on my back in paradise, the soft grassy clearing in Wales that I d last seen four years ago, ash trees in full green leaf and sunlight dappling through them, and Mum, Mum right there waiting for me. Her arms were full of flowers: poppies, for rest; anemones, for overcoming; moonwort, for forgetfulness; morning glories, for the dawn of a new day. A welcome-­home bouquet for a trauma victim, meant to ease horror out of my mind and make room for healing and for rest, and as she reached to help me, I heaved myself up howling, Orion! and sent the whole thing scattering before me.

A few months ­aeons ­ago, while we d still been in the midst of our frantic obstacle-­course runs, an enclaver from Milan had given me a translocation spell in Latin, the rare kind that you can cast on yourself without splitting yourself into bits. The idea was that I d be able to use it to hop around from one place to another in the graduation hall ­all the better to save people like enclavers from Milan, which is why she d handed me a spell worth five years of mana for free. You couldn t normally use it to go long distances, but time was more or less the same thing as space, and I d been in the Scholomance ten seconds before. I had the hall visualized as crisp and clear as an architectural drawing, complete with the horrific mass of Patience and the horde of maleficaria behind it, boiling its way towards us. I was placing myself at the gates, right back where I had been when Orion had given me that final shove.

But the spell didn t want to be cast, putting up resistance like warning signs across the way: dead end, road washed out ahead. I forced it through anyway, throwing mana at it, and the casting rebounded in my face and knocked me down like I d run straight into a concrete

Naomi Novik is the New York Times bestselling author of A Deadly Education and The Last Graduate, the award-winning novels Uprooted and Spinning Silver, and the Temeraire series. She is a founder of the Organization for Transformative Works and the Archive of Our Own. She lives in New York City with her family and six computers.

Praise for A Deadly Education

A gorgeous book about monsters and monstrousness, chockablock with action, cleverness, and wit . . . Naomi Novik deliciously undoes expectations about magic schools, destined heroes, and family legacies. Holly Black, #1 New York Times bestselling author

Eyeball-meltingly brilliant . . . Novik is, quite simply, a genius. Kiersten White, New York Times bestselling author of And I Darken

The Scholomance is the dark school of magic I ve been waiting for, and its wise, witty, and monstrous heroine is one I d happily follow anywhere even into a school full of monsters. Katherine Arden, New York Times bestselling author of The Bear and the Nightingale

Novik skillfully combines sharp humor with layers of imagination to build a fantasy that delights on every level. I loved this brilliant book. Stephanie Garber, #1 New York Times bestselling author of the Caraval series

Novik puts a refreshingly dark, adult spin on the magical boarding school. . . . A must-read for fantasy fans. Publishers Weekly (starred review)

Praise for The Last Graduate

The climactic graduation-day battle will bring cheers, tears, and gasps as the second of the
Scholomance trilogy closes with a breathtaking cliff-hanger. Booklist (starred review)

Sardonic students, gruesome monsters, growing friendships, and a touch of romance create a highly readable story. . . . Book three can t come fast enough. Library Journal (starred review)

Naomi Novik s Scholomance series, about kids at a preposterously deadly magical school, stands out in a ridiculously crowded field. Its sheer viciousness, its grim humor, and its complicated interpersonal politics are an immediate draw. Polygon

Truly one of the best fantasy series out there right now, and it s not close. Culturess