Chapter Two
I'd expected the Velasca's dining hall to be formal, like something at the universities I'd studied at.
Lines of long tables with quiet scholars eating at them while they read a book, maybe some polite conversation about manuscript preservation.
Instead, I got the noise, color, and movement of a university cafeteria during finals week.
If that university were in a Tolkien novel.
A massive space stretched before me, with exposed-beam ceilings and tall windows in the walls directly across from me and to the right.
Sunlight streamed in through those windows, illuminating the entire space.
The rows of long wooden tables were the only things I'd expected, but fantasy people sat among the humans at those tables.
A woman with blue-green skin and elaborately braided green hair sprawled on a chair near the window, complaining about the dry air while eating sliced melon.
“I don't care what Ravi says.” She pointed at the man next to her—possibly a human.
“My skin is cracking. Cracking. Do you know how uncomfortable that is?”
“You could go back to the coast.” The man pushed her finger away.
“And miss Mateo's cooking? Absolutely not.”
Then an explosion had me spinning to the right to see that a man—definitely not human, his skin was faintly luminous and his eyes burned gold—had set someone's toast on fire. The flames glowed bright orange, and the scent of burned cinnamon wafted over to me.
“Damn it, Pyrhus!” The toast's owner laughed. “That's the third time this week.”
“Sorry, sorry.” Pyrhus waved his hand and extinguished the flames. “I'm working on my control.”
“You've been working on your control for two centuries!” someone shouted across the hall.
“These things take time!” Pyrhus shouted back.
Near a long pass-through window in the right wall, a man shouted in Spanish-accented English as he gestured with a wooden spoon.
He was broad-shouldered, with olive skin and thick black curls streaked with silver.
The words Kiss the Cook's Ass adorned his apron in faded letters. I assumed that was the cook, Mateo.
“Nobody leaves until they've eaten something proper!” Mateo swung his spoon at the entire hall. “I don't care if you're immortal; you still need breakfast. Yes, I'm talking to you, Brannoc. Coffee is not a meal.”
A voice like gravel answered from a beverage station along the entrance wall to my left. “Coffee is the only thing keeping me from murdering the idiot who designed this machine.”
I peered around Julian to see a short but muscular man with bright auburn hair, including a thick beard with bits of metal woven into it.
“That's Brannoc,” Julian said. “He's a dwarf and our master blacksmith. He's been complaining about that espresso machine for six years.”
“Why doesn't he fix it?”
“Because then he'd have nothing to complain about.”
I was staring. I knew I was staring, but I couldn't help it.
The myths weren't specimens that the Velasca studied, documented, or preserved behind glass.
They were just living their lives. Eating breakfast. Arguing about toast, coffee, and dry air.
The humans didn't treat them like curiosities.
They were just people who belonged there.
“And that's—”
Something large and golden crashed into my legs.
I stumbled backward, fell onto a chair, and looked down to find a griffin staring up at me with enormous amber eyes.
It was about the size of a Labrador, with a golden eagle's head and feathered wings attached to a tawny lion's body.
Its beak looked sharp enough to take off fingers, but it made a noise that sounded distinctly like purring.
“That's Zephyr.” Julian smiled indulgently as he sat down across the table from me. “He's young and playful.”
“That explains his size.” I went still. The griffin was climbing into my lap using claws that should have been terrifying but somehow weren't. He settled across my thighs like an oversized cat. “Uh, is this normal?”
“For Zephyr? Absolutely.”
The griffin's feathers were impossibly soft. I touched them without thinking, running my fingers through the golden down near the skin of his neck, and Zephyr made that purring sound again, louder.
“He likes you,” someone said.
I looked up. A tall man with warm brown skin and kind dark eyes stood nearby, holding a cup of tea. He wore a white shirt beneath a practical medical coat embroidered with subtle golden vines.
“Dr. Ravi Kapoor.” Julian motioned to the man. “This is our head physician. He's the one who keeps telling Marina that her skin isn't actually cracking.”
“That's the woman by the window?” I looked toward her.
“Yes, it's psychosomatic.” Ravi rolled his eyes. “But try telling a mermaid that.”
“I can hear you!” Marina called from across the room.
“I know.” Ravi smiled at me. “Welcome to the Velasca, Ethan.” He walked away.
“Thank you,” I called after him.
Around us, breakfast continued. Mateo shouted about proper nutrition. A woman with chestnut curls and a bright yellow dress strode through the room, taking notes, her pen moving so fast it was almost a blur.
Julian followed my gaze. “Eleanor Finley, she's our chief librarian. She knows everything that happens in the Velasca approximately five minutes before it happens.”
“How?”
“We're still not sure.” He chuckled.
“Zephyr, no!” Eleanor pointed at the griffin on my lap.
Zephyr, who'd been doing nothing, lifted his head to glare at her.
“I know what you're going to do.” She wagged her finger.
Zephyr jumped down and squawked at her.
“Come on.” Julian stood up. “Let's get you some coffee before Brannoc destroys the machine.”
We navigated through the tables, past people who nodded at Julian and smiled at me. No one looked at me as if I were an outsider, which was strange because I definitely was.
The beverage table had a line of drink dispensers, with several types of juice and cold water.
Then there were industrial-sized coffee urns, and similar urns holding hot water.
Canisters of tea with a bowl of tea balls stood nearby.
The espresso machine was industrial-sized as well, and sounded as if it were dying.
Brannoc glared at it with the intensity of someone planning murder.
Up close, I could see the metal in his beard was rings, and his eyes were bright blue.
“This,” Brannoc announced to no one in particular, “is an insult to craftsmanship.”
“Then fix it,” someone shouted at him.
“I'm not fixing this piece of shit. I'm building a new one.” He slammed his hand against the machine's side, and it immediately started working, producing a perfect shot of espresso. “See? It just needed encouragement.”
“That's not encouragement.” Julian crossed his arms and stared down at the dwarf. “That's harassment.”
“Same thing.” Brannoc poured the espresso into a tiny cup and downed it in one swallow. Then he noticed me. “You're the new one, eh?”
“Ethan Clarke.” I held out my hand.
“Brannoc.” He peered at my hand. “You any good with those?”
“I—what?”
“Your hands.” He took my hand, inspected it, then shook it. “Can you build things? Fix things? Or are you one of those scholars who only reads books all day?”
I thought about the bookshelf I had built for my flat in Reykjavik and the chair I'd repaired for my grandmother when I was fifteen. “I can fix things. I'm not a master craftsman or anything, but I know my way around a screwdriver.”
“Good.” Brannoc nodded as if I'd passed some kind of test. “Come by the smithy sometime. I'll teach you proper metalwork. Can't trust a man who doesn't know how to forge.” He stomped off before I could respond.
Julian handed me a cup of coffee. “Congratulations. Brannoc likes you.”
“That was him liking me?”
“He didn't insult your parentage. That's practically a declaration of friendship.”
As I added cream and sugar to my coffee, I surreptitiously watched the myths. But Julian caught me.
“They're amazing, aren't they?” Julian sipped his coffee and watched me.
“Sorry, I can't seem to stop gawking.”
“Don't apologize. Just remember our rules.” Julian's voice was gentle but firm. “Rule One of the Velasca: Never confuse belief with ownership. Humans created myths, but they don't belong to us.”
“I didn't learn any rules in Switzerland. What are the others?”
“Rule Two: Consent is everything. We don't document anyone who doesn't want to be documented. We don't share information without permission. We don't help if they don’t want our help. A myth's story belongs to them, not us. If they want to fade or fight it on their own, that's their choice.”
“Okay. That's fair.”
“Rule Three: Remembering is an act of love. Always approach your work with compassion. Most Velascans become lifelong friends with their assigned myths. Some even become lovers. How you care for your myths is up to you. But you must care, Ethan. The Velasca was founded on love, and love helps us endure. The myths most likely to survive are the ones who know that someone cares about them.”
That unsettled me. Love my assignments? Then I looked around the room and noticed the way the humans interacted with the myths. There was warmth in their words and actions. Even when they got upset with each other, they did so as friends.
Academics like me aren't known to be romantic, but we can be very passionate about what interests us.
We wouldn't spend so much time researching things if we didn't feel excited about them.
I probably would care about my assignments, maybe even make some friends, but I wouldn't be falling in love.
That was just ridiculous. They weren't human.
What kind of love could I share with a dryad or a dwarf? I couldn't see how it would work.
“And Rule Four?” I asked.
Julian grinned. “Rule Four: When in doubt, ask Mateo. He knows nearly as much about myths as Caelum. Also, he'll feed you, which can solve most problems.”