Historical Fiction Virtual Blog
Tours Presents…
The Girl from Oto
By Amy Maroney
A
Renaissance-era woman artist and an American scholar. Linked by a 500-year-old
mystery…
The secrets
of the past are irresistible—and dangerous.
1500: Born
during a time wracked by war and plague, Renaissance-era artist Mira grows up
in a Pyrenees convent believing she is an orphan. When tragedy strikes, Mira
learns the devastating truth about her own origins. But does she have the
strength to face those who would destroy her?
2015:
Centuries later, art scholar Zari unearths traces of a mysterious young woman
named Mira in two 16th-century portraits. Obsessed, Zari tracks Mira through
the great cities of Europe to the pilgrim’s route of Camino de Santiago—and is
stunned by what she finds. Will her discovery be enough to bring Mira’s story
to life?
Praise for
The Girl from Oto
“An
absorbing debut novel. I couldn’t put it down.”
Deborah Swift, author of The
Gilded Lily
“A powerful
story and an intriguing mystery. A Red Ribbon winner and highly recommended.”
The Wishing Shelf Book
Awards, U.K.
Giveaway
During the
Blog Tour, we will be giving away 10 eBooks of The Girl from Oto by Amy
Maroney! Enter
Giveaway
Rules
• Giveaway
ends at 11:59pm EST on March 22nd. You must be 18 or older to enter.
• Giveaway is open to the US only.
• Only one entry per household.
• All giveaway entrants agree to be honest and not cheat the systems; any suspicion of fraud is decided upon by blog/site owner and the sponsor, and entrants may be disqualified at our discretion.
• Winner has 48 hours to claim prize or new winner is chosen.
Excerpt
Like
the breath of an angry god, the wind streamed over the mountains from the north
and slammed into the castle. The balcony shutters bucked and heaved, straining
against the iron latches that held them in place. To Elena’s ears, the sound
was the hollow clacking of bones.
Wind
goes where it wants, she thought, finding the source of a draft with her
fingertips. She closed her eyes and imagined herself in the forest, where
brittle leaves swirled in unruly flocks and golden-eyed owls blinked in the
high branches of oaks.
A
faint moan rose from across the room.
Elena
straightened up, squared her shoulders. The sooner they got on with it, the
sooner she could escape these walls. She rolled up a small woolen rug and
wedged it against the base of the shutters, muffling the rattle. Then she
padded across the thick Moorish rugs to the great bed and pulled aside the
drapes.
The
young woman lay curled on her side. In the candlelight, it was difficult to
pick out details, but Elena had dressed and undressed this body so many times
that she did not need the aid of the sun to understand the predicament. The
woman—still a girl, really—was built like a snow finch. Her belly was far too
large for her bony frame. For months, Elena had traced its bulbous arc with her
fingertips, measuring the swell of it, prodding the taut skin. The likely
explanation was not a giant, but twins, and for a first birth that often meant
catastrophe.
She
dipped a cloth into a copper pot of water that sat on the floor by the bed.
With practiced movements she bathed the woman’s pale limbs, smoothed back her
tangled hair, massaged lavender oil into her skin.
“My
lady, the baby can’t wait any longer.”
Silence.
She
raised her voice. “Lady Marguerite! There’s more yet to do. Rouse yourself!”
“Why
do you shout at me so? Will you not let me sleep?” Marguerite turned her head
toward Elena, her eyelids half open.
Elena
felt uneasy, looking into those eyes. They were silvery green, like the hide of
a tree frog, and the black lashes that framed them were spindly as spiders’
legs. Perhaps it was this contrast of light and dark that made them so
unsettling. Or the long, slanting sweep of them. Or their size, for they seemed
much too large for the woman’s angular face. Whatever it was, there was
something more feline than human about them, and Elena had never been fond of
cats. She looked away and put a hand on the distended belly.
“If
you wish your baby to die, by all means sleep.” Something hard—a knee? A
foot?—pressed against her palm with urgent, fluttery movements. “If you wish
your baby to live, then push. Now make your choice.”
The
glowing eyes found hers. A pale slender hand slipped into her strong brown one.
The young woman on the bed took a deep breath, set her jaw and bore down.
The
night was half gone when the baby was born. She squirmed and flailed her limbs,
gulping air into her lungs and pumping it out again with wild shrieks. Elena
cleaned her, swaddled her and thrust her into her mother’s arms.
Marguerite
bent her head over the baby. “A girl. God help me.”
The
newborn quieted and stared unblinking at her mother. After a few moments of
utter stillness, she opened her tiny red mouth and began rooting for a breast.
“She
will be called Miramonde,” Marguerite said softly. “One who sees the world.”
“How
much can a girl see from behind a wall?” Elena asked.
Marguerite
shook her head. “She will not be caged. When she is old enough, she will learn
the ways of the mountain people.”
Elena
stared. “Who will teach her?”
“You.”
Amy Maroney
Amy Maroney lives in the Pacific Northwest with her family. She studied
English literature at Boston University and public policy at Portland State
University, and spent many years as a writer and editor of nonfiction. When
she’s not diving down research rabbit holes, she enjoys hiking, painting,
drawing, dancing and reading. The Girl from Oto and Mira’s Way are books 1
& 2 in The Miramonde Series.
For a free prelude to The Girl from Oto, for the full scoop on the
research behind the book, and for news about the sequel, please visit www.amymaroney.com.
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See you on your next coffee break!
Take Care,
Mary Anne xxx