Sign of the Throne: Book One in the Solas Beir Trilogy by Melissa Eskue Ousley Page B

hag wore a ragged dress that might have been white long ago, but was now a dirty gray. Stringy white hair hung down her back and a withered arm hung limply at her side. The hag turned, revealing a ruined face and a hideous milky-white eye.
    The hair on the back of Abby’s neck stood on end. She backed away, terrified, stumbling over a thick root jutting out from beneath the labyrinth wall, then pressed up against the hedge to keep from falling.
    The old woman bent down, and the raven hopped into her arms, his golden eyes beckoning to Abby. Abby searched the woman’s face—wretched as it was, the face was kind, and the woman did not seem to intend harm. The woman’s good eye was a piercing blue, and Abby recognized it as belonging to the beautiful raven-haired woman from her dream.
    “Hello, Abigail,” the woman croaked. “I have been expecting you.”

 
     
     
     
     
     
     

    DREAMWALKING
     
     
    “ C ome,” the woman motioned. “We have much to discuss.” With a slight limp, she slid past Abby and began making her way to the labyrinth’s entrance.
    When she exited the dark maze, Abby’s eyes stung as she stepped into the sunlight. The ruin that was left of the mansion looked like it was straight from the pages of Great Expectations , and the woman bore a fearsome resemblance to mad Miss Havisham in a tattered bridal dress. All that was missing was a moldy wedding cake.
    “What happened to you?” Abby whispered, taking in her surroundings with wide eyes, her curiosity overcoming rudeness.
    “I will tell you everything soon,” the woman assured her. “But first, we need to get inside, away from spying eyes.” She nodded toward the estate’s gate, where Abby could see the large alley cats had returned and were watching intently, tails twitching. After Abby’s encounter with the shadow thing that had turned into a black cat, the woman’s statement didn’t sound crazy at all.
    They entered the damaged mansion, and the woman led Abby into a long, wood-paneled hall. Broken glass littered the floor from the remains of the tall, gilded mirrors on the walls. A shaft of light illuminated the room, highlighting particles of dust floating in the air. Looking up, Abby could see the source of the light—a framed dome of glass, now with fine cracks spreading like a spider’s web, but still intact.
    This used to be some kind of grand ballroom, Abby thought. Now I know I’ve been here before—the first dream with the little boy. But the room looked different—the mirrors were still whole.
    The mansion must have been all but destroyed in the infamous Newcastle Beach Quake decades before. What was strange was that while most buildings in Newcastle had sustained only minor damage, this one was almost leveled. It looked as though one wing had collapsed. Maybe the mansion wa s resting on a sandy foundation since it was so close to the beach. But then again, the inn was right across the street and had hardly been affected.
    The woman pulled open a set of doors, and Abby followed her into a room filled with a large swimming pool; the air felt warm and moist. Surrounding the pool were large ceramic pots glazed in a multitude of rich colors—cobalt, scarlet, tangerine, and chartreuse. After the quake, the mansion had suffered years of neglect. Against those odds, this room was surprisingly well-preserved. It had become its own ecosystem, and the plants were thriving, feeding off the pool’s condensation. Rays of sunlight filtered through the dirty glass panes stretching floor to ceiling on each of the three walls opposite the room’s entrance. The glass appeared frosted, covered with tiny droplets of moisture. The woman pushed the heavy doors closed, blocking the cool air wafting in from the ballroom, and Abby felt a dizzying wave of heat as the temperature increased.
    A giant seashell-shaped bowl encrusted with algae sat at the far end of the pool, and though water no longer coursed over its scalloped edges, Abby