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. 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. Her arms were full of flowers: poppies, for rest anemones, for overcoming moonwort, for forgetfulness morning glories, for the dawn of a new day.Ī 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.Ī 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 last thing Orion said to me, the absolute bastard, was El, I love you so much.Īnd 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. Not even the richest enclaver would tempt fate that way. The Golden Enclaves, The one thing you never talk about while you’re in the Scholomance is what you’ll do when you get out.
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