{"product_id":"blood-over-bright-haven-isbn-9780593873373","title":"Blood Over Bright Haven","description":"\u003cb\u003eThe first woman ever admitted to a prestigious order of mages unravels a secret conspiracy that could change the practice of magic forever, in this standalone dark fantasy from the author of \u003ci\u003eThe Sword of Kaigen.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e“Powerful, thought-provoking. . . . Fans of R.F. Kuang’s \u003ci\u003eBabel\u003c\/i\u003e will find much to admire here, from the intricate magic system to the unflinching exploration of societal issues.”\u003ci\u003e—Booklist\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eAN \u003ci\u003eELLE \u003c\/i\u003eBEST BOOK OF THE YEAR\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFor twenty years, Sciona has devoted every waking moment to the study of magic, fueled by a mad desire to achieve the impossible: to be the first woman ever admitted to the High Magistry at the University of Magics and Industry.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhen Sciona finally passes the qualifying exam and becomes a highmage, she finds her challenges have just begun. Her new colleagues are determined to make her feel unwelcome—and, instead of a qualified lab assistant, they give her a janitor.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhat neither Sciona nor her peers realize is that her taciturn assistant was not always a janitor. Ten years ago, he was a nomadic hunter who lost his family on their perilous journey from the wild plains to the city. But now he sees the opportunity to understand the forces that decimated his tribe, drove him from his homeland, and keep the privileged in power.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAt first, mage and outsider have a fractious relationship. But working together, they uncover an ancient secret that could change the course of magic forever—if it doesn’t get them killed first.“A scathing but truthful look at the world we live in, and a stunningly powerful story.”\u003cb\u003e—Terry Brooks \u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Some books read like a rare feast—so sumptuous you wish you could enjoy each delectable bite, yet you can’t help gobbling them up in a few greedy chomps. Such was the case for me while reading \u003ci\u003eBlood Over Bright Haven\u003c\/i\u003e.”\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003e—The New York Times\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Powerful, passionate, and painful, this book is like a file baked into a birthday cake: a surprise when you first bite down on it, but also a tool that can set you free. Innovative and brilliantly written, this is a glorious jewel added to the crown of dark academia.”\u003cb\u003e—Seanan McGuire\u003c\/b\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Wang deftly incorporates elements of science and philosophy into dark academia in this provocative stand-alone novel.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eThe Washington Post\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Bears comparison to groundbreaking works by Ursula K. Le Guin . . . the best fantasy novel of the year.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eThe Guardian\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Ambitious and mysterious, imaginative and haunting . . .”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eMs. magazine\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A gaslamp dark academia that will haunt you forever.”\u003cb\u003e—Armed with a Book\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Fans of R. F. Kuang’s Babel will find much to admire here, from the intricate magic system to the unflinching exploration of societal issues.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eBooklist\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“The best book—bar none—I’ve read all year.”\u003cb\u003e—Evan Winter, author of \u003ci\u003eThe Fire of Vengeance\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“M. L. Wang continues to deliver the goods. \u003ci\u003eBlood Over Bright Haven\u003c\/i\u003e is a storytelling masterclass. Deep themes run through this energetic tale of dark academia, and feats of imagination abound.”\u003cb\u003e—Mark Lawrence, author of \u003ci\u003eThe Book That Wouldn’t Burn\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A fantastic page-turner—clever, emotional, and thematically rich. . . highly recommended! I was completely engaged the whole way through.”\u003cb\u003e—James Islington, author of \u003ci\u003eThe Will of the Many\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e“Blood Over Bright Haven\u003c\/i\u003e is the kind of book that knocks you down, kicks you repeatedly, and then makes you thank it for doing so. I can’t recommend it highly enough.”\u003cb\u003e—John Bierce, author of the Mage Errant series\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“With one of the most intricate and fascinating magic systems I have ever read, \u003ci\u003eBlood Over Bright Haven\u003c\/i\u003e masterfully draws you into the brutal web of power, corruption, and complicity at the heart of its society. This book is a merciless reckoning that leaves you reeling long after the last page is turned.”\u003cb\u003e—Sara Hashem, author of \u003ci\u003eThe Jasad Heir\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Breathtaking in its scope, audacity, and the depth of its storytelling . . . the kind of story that changes your heart and mind forever.”\u003cb\u003e—Andy Peloquin, author of \u003ci\u003eDarkblade\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Beautiful, evocative, and haunting . . . I can’t get it out of my head.”\u003cb\u003e—Dyrk Ashton, author of \u003ci\u003eRise of Gods\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e“Blood Over Bright Haven \u003c\/i\u003eis fantasy at its best: a compelling read that I couldn’t put down, and probably one of my top ten books of this decade.”\u003cb\u003e—Virginia McClain, author of \u003ci\u003eBlade’s Edge\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Academia at its darkest . . . \u003ci\u003eBlood Over Bright Haven\u003c\/i\u003e will haunt you long after its final page.”\u003cb\u003e—Trudie Skies, author of The Cruel Gods trilogy\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e“Vibrant, raw, and deeply emotional, this novel is a manifesto about justice as much as it is a thrilling work of fiction.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eLibrary Journal\u003c\/i\u003e, starred review\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cb\u003eM. L. Wang\u003c\/b\u003e is an author, martial artist, and weird recluse currently hiding somewhere in Wisconsin with her maroon-bellied parakeet, Sulu. She enjoys gruesome nature documentaries and long walks in circles around her room. Her other books include \u003ci\u003eThe Sword of Kaigen\u003c\/i\u003e and the YA fantasy series The Volta Academy Chronicles.\u003cb\u003e1\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA Field of Flowers\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThomil had taken the long way back from scouting. Against his better judgment, he let down his wolfskin hood and welcomed the wind’s needles as he pressed through the howling dark. Thomil’s gods were in this cold, as they were in the snow and the crocus stem promise of color fast asleep beneath the freeze. If this was the last time they ever wrapped their arms around him, he wanted to feel it.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhat was left of Thomil’s tribe waited in a huddle at the edge of Lake Tiran. Massed in the dark, the Caldonnae were alarmingly small against the expanse of ice. Of the several scouts who had peeled from the group to look out for direwolves, snow lions, and rival tribes, Thomil was the last to rejoin the clan, his return bringing their number to forty—forty people left of a nation that had once numbered in the tens of thousands.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“No pursuers,” Beyern said as Thomil passed him. It wasn’t a question. The lead hunter inferred everything he needed from Thomil’s body language.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWith life ever dwindling across the plains of the Kwen, scouting for danger had come to feel more like a formality than a necessary precaution. It had been six months since the Caldonnae had encountered another clan and years since Thomil had seen a direwolf. The most prolific killer on these plains didn’t stalk on earthly feet, and the best scout in the Kwen could never sense it coming.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Join your family.” Beyern nodded to where Maeva and Arras leaned into each other in the dark. “And put your hood up, fool.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Yes, Uncle.” Thomil smiled and drew his hood over his numb ears, trying not to think that this might be the last time Beyern ever snapped at him.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMaeva was quiet as Thomil slipped into a crouch at her side. Thomil had been taller than his older sister for half a decade now, but to him, she would always be a shelter, a hearth light when all other love had gone from the world. She met his eyes, then turned to the glow beyond the lake, inviting him to follow her gaze and share her hope.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eEverything about the country on the far shore was alien—the buildings taller than any tree, the spires piercing the sky like teeth, the boom and whir of machinery. The city of Tiran would never be home, but it was a chance at survival. Magical shielding glittered around the metal metropolis, forming a dome that stretched from the sun-eating mountain range in the west to the lower barrows in the east. That bright work of sorcery protected those inside from winter and Blight—everything that had driven the Caldonnae to the brink of extinction. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Are you ready?” Arras asked, because that was the kind of inane question he liked to ask.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“No.” Thomil tried not to sound exasperated with his sister’s husband, but really, how ready could a person ever be for near-certain death? And if not death, then the enormity of the unknown. The plains of the Kwen were the only mother Thomil had ever known—brutal but comprehensible if one had the stillness to listen and learn her mysteries. Even as he beheld the city across the lake, his mind couldn’t accept the idea that safety could lie within the incomprehensible sorcery on the other side of that barrier.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMaeva reached over and squeezed Thomil’s hand, her grip as reassuring as it had been when they were children and he came crying to her with nightmares of wolves with many mouths. He wanted to slip his deerskin mitten off and grasp her hand in earnest, in case this was the last time. But there was a silent agreement among the Caldonnae not to say goodbye. They had to keep believing, however irrationally, that they would all live to see the sunrise.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Thomil,” Maeva said with the soft confidence that told him she could see straight to the doubts massing beneath his composure. “The worthwhile run is never the short one.” Old hunters’ wisdom, based on the days it could take to track and hunt the largest prey—followed by the kind of abstract wisdom only an elder sister like Maeva could give: “You know we’re not running from oblivion. We’re running toward hope.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMaeva and Arras’s daughter mumbled sleepily on her father’s shoulder, and Maeva betrayed her own anxiety by clutching Thomil’s hand a little tighter.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“And you know Carra’s going to be all right,” Thomil said, wanting to return his sister’s reassurances. “If nothing else, Arras can run.” \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Was that a veiled dig at my intelligence?” Arras raised a bushy red eyebrow at Thomil.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Was it veiled?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I swear, little brother, if my girl wasn’t sleeping, I’d deck you so hard.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I know.” Thomil grinned up at his broad slab of a brother-in-law. “Why do you think I waited until she was asleep?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt was a stupid exchange, but it got Maeva to laugh. And that was all that mattered: that their last moments as a family here on this shoreline be warm ones.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“It’s nearly time.” Elder Sertha’s voice creaked like an oak above the murmurs between family members. “Get the blood moving in your legs.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Leave your tools and weapons,” Beyern added. “They’re just deadweight.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAs instructed, Thomil unslung his bow and quiver and set them in the snow. The simple act of lifting hands off weapons was harder than he had expected. For a thousand years, the Caldonnae had defined themselves by their hunting prowess. Leaving their bows and spears behind felt like the final concession that they were no longer the apex predators their ancestors had been.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Up.” Beyern walked along the shoreline, pulling the sickly and sleepy to their feet. “It’s not getting any colder tonight. If the ice at the warm end is ever going to hold, it will be now.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAlready, the sliver of returning sunlight had conspired with the warmth from the barrier to weaken the lake ice between the plains and the city of Tiran. Eventually, the heat of summer would melt the impassable snowdrifts at the feet of the mountains, opening marginally safer land avenues into Tiran, but even the most optimistic among the Caldonnae knew the tribe wouldn’t last until then. Blight had taken too many of the animals they hunted and the summer crops they would have stored to hold them through the Deep Night. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eCrossing the lake now was their only chance.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFour-year-old Carra woke as Arras adjusted her weight in his arms.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Papa,” she said sleepily, “is Uncle Thomil back?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Yes, sweetling. He’s right here,” Arras said, and when Carra still looked worried, he put his nose into her mess of auburn hair to whisper something that made her giggle. “Now, hush, my heart. Everything will be all right.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe children Carra’s age and younger couldn’t run through the shin-deep snow and would have to be carried. Thankfully, Arras had retained his mammoth strength through the lean months of the Deep Night. He could make the two-mile run under the extra weight if fate allowed it. But that, too, was a slim hope. The greatest danger out on that lake would not be cold, exhaustion, or thin ice.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt would be Blight, magnified tenfold.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“While you can still breathe, keep moving,” Beyern said. “Stop for nothing. Turn back for no one. Not even your own blood.” The words turned white and hung in the air like a mourning shroud. “We are one blood now, one name, with one purpose: cross.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Everyone, ready,” Elder Sertha said as the last of the Caldonnae took up position along the rocks.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNumbers were supposed to help. No solitary runner ever made this crossing in one piece, but in big groups, sometimes, there was a chance. Prey mentality.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Move!”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAs one, the Caldonnae surged onto the lake.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe moment Thomil’s boots hit the ice, something changed. Normally, Blight did not announce its arrival to the mortal senses, but this time, Thomil picked up a slight shift in pressure, a promise of evil in the air.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhite ignited the dark before Thomil, catching one of the teenage hunters who had struck out ahead of the rest of the group. As the light hit the boy’s sleeve, he jerked to a stop, and when it flared to illuminate his face, Thomil recognized the Blight’s first victim: Drevan, an orphan of the last winter, a gifted small game trapper, a quiet boy . . . He was not quiet now. No one was when Blight pierced their flesh.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMagnified by the uncaring expanse and sharpened by the cold, Drevan’s shriek was the sound of nightmares. Skin unraveled from flesh and flesh from bone like unspooling thread. A few of the adolescent runners nearest Drevan stumbled to a halt in horror, even as the elders at their backs cried, “Keep running! He’s lost! Keep running!”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDrevan had left the shoreline at a sprint, meaning the whole tribe was behind him. They all saw him disintegrate, screaming, until the ribbons of light peeled the lips from his teeth, the skin from his ribs, and at last unmade his lungs. In seconds, the little trapper had crumpled to a pile of cloth, hair, and stripped bones. The blood that had spun from his body made the impression of a flower on the snow.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Forward, sons!” Beyern grabbed two of the young men who had stopped and hauled them back into motion. “Look back for no one!”New York Times bestseller","brand":"Del Rey","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":48232989720805,"sku":"NP9780593873373","price":19.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780593873373.jpg?v=1767722802","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/blood-over-bright-haven-isbn-9780593873373","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}