Today is the super fabulous Let's Talk Blogfest organized by Roni at Fiction Groupie. More than eighty--yes, 80+ people are signed up to show off dialogue-driven scenes. What a way to get an earful. Come on, let's talk.
I've been working like crazy on revisions of my Sea Daughters novel. For this fest, though, I decided to pull Harper's Stone, a high fantasy, off the shelf and offer up a scene between the protagonist Fiona and her dying great aunt. I'd love to hear if you think it works.
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Lady Celia’s eyes fluttered open and her frail hand, dwarfed by its signature ruby ring, reached up to latch onto Fiona’s wrist. Her fingers tightened like a knot in a rope. “Are we alone?”
Lady Celia’s eyes fluttered open and her frail hand, dwarfed by its signature ruby ring, reached up to latch onto Fiona’s wrist. Her fingers tightened like a knot in a rope. “Are we alone?”
With a slight nod of her head, Fiona dismissed the servant hovering nearby.
“There is much I should have told you, but I wished you'd become more mature, more in control of your emotions." Lady Celia's voice, though weak, still carried a sting. "Now, I fear I waited too long.”
“Please, don’t speak so, Aunt. The physician will be here soon, and he will set you right again.” Fiona wanted to believe her own words but feared she was about to lose the only relative she had. Then she'd be at the king's mercy.
“Listen carefully. I must give you something before the physician arrives.” Lady Celia let go of Fiona’s wrist and tried to pull off the ruby ring but seemed to lack strength. “Take the ring off. Do it quickly.”
Fiona eased off the gold band set with the enormous stone. It rested in the palm of her hand--a flawless, sparkling gem the color of richest blood held in place by fasteners shaped to resemble clawed fingers. “Where shall I put it, Aunt?”
“Secrete it in your bodice.”
As Fiona hesitated, her great-aunt’s voice cut the air. “Do it. At once. No one must know you have it, just as the harp is your secret. They are your heirlooms and yours alone.” Stringing together several sentences depleted the old woman. She sank into her feather pillow, breathing raggedly.
Fiona bent close to hear a whisper: “Put the ring on a chain and keep it near your heart always. It will help protect you. I believe that to be so. It must be so.”
A chill swept through Fiona. “Please, Aunt, try to rest. The physician is sure to arrive any moment.” She glanced over her shoulder, wishing help would walk in.
“They are coming for me.” Great Aunt Celia sighed, as though at peace.
“Who?” Fiona turned her head again, but there was no one but the two of them.
“My work is done.” The old woman jerked and half-sat before dropping back against the pillow. “But, no, I didn’t prepare you enough. I leave you helpless as a fawn without a mother.”
At the word ‘mother,’ Fiona felt that old chasm in her open—the longing and hurt. This could be her last chance to find out what had been kept from her. “My mother. Was she your niece? What was her name? What became of her?”
Lady Celia’s eyes, which had been staring at nothing, focused on Fiona again. “There can be no harm in telling you now, but you mustn't share it with anyone. Ever. I'm not your blood relative, at all. I'm a guardian. Your family--their names, their history--all passed from this world.”
An ache blossomed in Fiona’s chest. What little she thought she knew about who she was vanished. She felt like the empty shell of a bird’s egg, lying broken and wiped clean of whatever had been there.
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