Black Lily

11. where is he?

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"Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned."

— William Congreve, English playwright and poet. 1670 CE to 1729 CE.

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"Yara, where is Tedros?" Guinevere asked the nymph. She had returned a week early from her business trip, finding that Hort egregiously over-reported the number of wheat fields infested by termites.

"Oh! He went on a meditation trip! So nice of him to take some time away for himself."

"He. What. Now?" Guinevere clenched her fists. "Is this some kind of sick joke? Where is he?"

Chaddick cleared his throat. "He really is meditating in the valley," he said, handing the birch bark note over to the goddess. She gave it a once over.

"Well, if he's in the valley," she said through gritted teeth, "bring him to me. Now."

The nymphs fled off in search of him. They scoured the valley as fast as they could, upturning every stone and branch. They returned to the goddess, dejected and empty handed.

The goddess' wrath grew, the grass under her feet dying. "Where is my baby boy?"

"We don't know," Kiko meekly said.

"I should have expected you lot to be useless. I'm taking this to a higher power." And with that, Guinevere set off for Mount Olympus, leaving giant swaths of decaying plants in her wake. For the first time, winter was arriving in the valley.

Merlin lounged on his alabaster throne, his hat hanging off one of its arms. "Of course I know where Tedros is," he said to the irate goddess in front of him.

"Well?" Guinevere tapped her foot on the ground. "Where is he?"

"You won't like it."

"Tell. Me," she emphasized.

"You'll spoil his fun."

"I could care less about his fun. I care about his safety."

Merlin leaned back and ran his hands through his beard. "He's in the Underworld."

Green tendrils began wrapping themselves around Merlin's throne, as if they could strangle the rock itself. "So what you're telling me," she croaked out, "is that my baby has been kidnapped."

"Ma'am, he has not been kidnapped. He looks pretty happy down there actually."

Guinevere began to cry. "My poor baby! All alone there in the dark!" She used a rose petal to dab at the corners of her eyes. The vines began to creep around Merlin's arms.

The god sighed. "He's not alone. Even if he was, he'd be perfectly capable of handling himself. He's more than a few decades past being a child."

"Who is he with then?" Guinevere's eyes narrowed, enhancing their redness.

"He's with Agatha."

Guinevere scrunched up her nose in disgust. "That monster? You must get him out of her grimy claws for me this instant!" Vines tightened around Merlin, tying him down to the chair.

"I will send for her and Tedros. Hort!" Merlin bellowed.

He appeared, clothed in a chiton with golden lace trimmings and winged sandals. "Yes, your honor?"

"Bring me Agatha and Tedros."

"I have to go down there?" Hort asked, pointing down.

Guinevere huffed. "Yes, you absolutely must." Her tears had dried, leaving only anger in its place. The vines wrapped around Merlin slowly disintegrated. The god let out the subtlest sighs of relief.

Hort looked at the goddess. "When did you get here?"

She gave Hort such a dirty look that he felt like he had already journeyed down under. "I'm going, I'm going," he said, hands held in the air in defeat.

"See!" Merlin said jovially, already recovered from the vine incident. "Everything will work out fine."

Guinevere began pacing around Merlin's comically large throne room as if she wanted to wear down the floor and tumble from the peak of Mount Olympus to its base.