I'm rounding into the last quarter of The Garden with edits. Over the weekend, I passed one of my favorite scenes:
Belita stood by the window that overlooked the Garden. The yew groaned, a wild and lonesome sound beneath the wind. The scent of Ashmedai’s offering floated into her chamber and offended her with its stench.
“Who burns?” she asked.
Esteuan, said Federico from behind the shield of his newly formed mirror. Esteuan did not return from the offering. Mateho seeks Lope. I say Esteuan burns.
No dissents came from the other mirrors or the vines. The odor of smoke and iron drifted on the mist.
“Esteuan,” she whispered his name but did not detect a response. The stumps on her back twitched as if her phantom wings might lift her to the air. “Esteuan,” she called louder. Her voice rang through the orchard and flew on the wind.
Silence answered her entreaties. His soul did not come. The smell of smoke and iron lingered in the night.
“My brave Esteuan,” she whispered.
This week will see me working on the last quarter of the novel. I'm at 105,000 words and there will be more before this novel is done.
I have two guest posts coming up in the month of October. Stay tuned, I'll be keeping you posted.
Meanwhile, I'm going back to the edits ...