Page 33 of The Ruins of the Heartless Fae

“It’s just a statue.” Truda snickered from beside her. “You can’t piss your pantsjustyet.”

Some of the soldiers chuckled, and Kolfinna’s cheeks seared with heat.

“Let’s go forward,” Mímir said.

Kolfinna strode forward and shot the statue an uneasy look. It appeared far too realistic for her liking, as if it would take a step forward any second. She turned her attention away. Truda’s comments couldn’t dull the unexpected excitement bubbling in the pit of her stomach. When she had first heard of the mission, she hadn’t wanted to be a part of it. But now that she was here, surrounded by the beautiful history of her people, she wanted to explore every crook and cranny of this place. Her people had once walked through these halls. What kinds of things would she find?

The farther they walked into the lobby, the more curious she became about her surroundings. The lobby was rather symmetrical, with three doorways on each side of the walls, adjacent to the staircase. Although a part of her wanted to rush forward and inspect everything, another bigger part of her wanted to soak in the moment and take it slow. She doubted she’d be able to visit this place again after they finished excavating it this time around.

A part of her was sad at the thought of that; of humans looting this place with her help, but she banished that thought. She didn’t allow herself to wallow in guilt; she needed this for her survival. Her ancestors would understand.

A cold breeze gusted over her shoulders and she whipped her head to the side, where there was an undeniable coldness. Blár walked with the other soldiers, his expression stony. His cold gaze swept around the room warily, and there was an air of hostility around him. Kolfinna quickly looked away before he noticed her staring; the last thing she wanted was his attention.

They neared one of the first doorways. Mímir held his hand up and poked his head inside. When he deemed it safe, he beckoned everyone forward. One wall of the room was completely made of glass windows, allowing light to abundantly flow into the spacious room. At least thirty rusty swords hung on the walls, and even more littered the floor by the wall.

Kolfinna drifted toward the windows while the others inspected the contents of the room. From the window, she could see the flying buttresses and the walkways beneath them just outside. There were rusted latches on the bottoms of the windows and she could probably heave the windows open and walk underneath the buttresses if she wanted to.

Kolfinna turned to leave but froze midway and returned to inspect the window. A splash of brown and black splotches painted the walkway in giant streaks. Blood?

“Kolfinna, look at this,” Eyfura called to her. “What does this say?”

“Hm?” She spun around.

Eyfura held up a broken, circular shield with an inscription etched in the center of it. “It says something here. Can you read it?”

Kolfinna pulled away from the window and came to inspect the rusted shield with chipped edges. The bottom half of the shield was missing and its strap had snapped.

Kolfinna eased it out of Eyfura’s grasp and brushed her fingers over the lumpy, dented shield, and then to the inscription, which was written in runes. She knew the words immediately. “The serpent army will devour—” Kolfinna raised her eyes. “The rest of it is gone.”

“The serpent army?” Eyfura rubbed her chin. “That sounds spooky.”

“The serpent army,” Mímir murmured, coming to stand beside them. “I wonder who that army is. And what are these weapons for? This doesn’t appear to be an armory.”

“There are snake symbols on the swords,” Truda called out. She picked up a half-broken sword and held it up, pointing to the flat of the rusted blade where a snake engraving slithered along it. “See?”

“I don’t remember reading about serpents in fae history,” Mímir mumbled to himself, “but then again, it’s not like we know much about fae history. Most is unknown and what little we do know is spotty at best.”

Truda didn’t seem to hear him, because she asked, “Does the serpent mean anything?”

“I’m not sure. In our literature—” Mímir frowned when she tossed the sword aside. “The serpent almost always symbolizes a two-faced evil person, but that might be different for other civilizations like the fae. There’s just so much we don’t know.”

“You got any insight, fae?” Magni asked.

Kolfinna narrowed her eyes. “I have a name, you know. It’s not just ‘fae’ this and ‘fae’ that.”

“Do you have any insight or not?” Truda asked, tapping her foot on the floor and glancing around the room distastefully. “If not, let’s move forward. We don’t have all day to be dawdling in a dingy room with rusty swords.”

“I don’t know,” Kolfinna said. “I can’t think of anything with serpents.”

“Let’s move to the next room,” Mímir said.

The neighboring room was empty save for a statue of a woman wearing a draping dress at the center of it. The woman had her eyes closed and held long chains that dangled down to her feet. But what caught Kolfinna’s attention were the delicate, gossamer, butterfly-like wings clinging to her back.

As if instinctively, the long scars on Kolfinna’s back tickled and she swallowed down the sadness and anger suddenly broiling within her. She could’ve been just like this woman—free and able to have her beautiful wings. And yet, she had never been able to see them, much less use them. This world wouldn’t have allowed it.

“What the …?” Torsten murmured. “Who is she supposed to be?”

“She looks a bit … strange to me.”Thyra reached forward and tentatively poked the statue’s arm.

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