The Hymn Of Dormancy (Book Two)

Chapter Two

From a sky of velvet white, flashing sheets of droplets burst. The rain conjured a pattern on the waters of the Prinsengracht; the waves presenting a blurred image of the canal houses. The restaurant's private room had a perfect view of the hypnotising display outside. A symphony of pitter-patters thrummed through the space.

The table was set. The towered platter filled with crustless sandwiches, scones with clotted cream and raspberry jam, pastries, bonbons and macaroons. The tea was steeping, a wisp of steam coming from the pot's spout.

Maebh was waiting.

She sighed, propping her chin in her palm and startled when she caught someone staring at her from an inch distance, but it was her own face reflecting in the glass. Sunken eyes, pale skin, and she hadn't bothered to brush her wig. It showed.

Maebh continued to contemplate her reflection until a self-existent gust of wind sent her already messy locks array. She averted her gaze to the seat that had been empty a moment ago.

"You're late." She said without preamble.

"Kairos," Hermès retorted, crossing one leg over the other as he popped a macaroon into his mouth.

"Kairos?"

"I am never late. I arrive at the opportune moment."

Maebh rolled her eyes at the pupilless god and poured them both a cup of tea.

Soon, they ate their bellies full and conversation waxed all throughout the room, the subject more often than not veering towards frivolous chitchat. Their interactions were typically defined by giving and taking. It was how their hebdomadal meeting had come into existence. Maebh would rent a private room in a restaurant and buy the Messenger of the Gods lunch. In turn, Hermès brought her up to date on the state of affairs in Arcadia.

Every week brought the same news. The Arcadian saying rang true: An unwilling Childbearer did equal a kingdom in disarray.

Everyone associated with Maebh had been interrogated; a worldwide manhunt initiated. But neither bore any fruits. Not a single piece of evidence as to Maebh's whereabouts had been uncovered. Nobody knew anything, and the only creature who did was currently stuffing his face with overpriced sammies.

The flood wave of bad omens that had preceded Maebh's absence had retreated alongside her departure. No more dead animals. No more offerings left untouched. Like the hiccup was to blame on an error, an electrical short circuit, the culprit of which remained unknown.

Every week without fail, Maebh avoided the broaching of a certain topic — a person — until the last moment. Hermès was undoubtedly aware of this. While oversexed and occasionally, flat out inappropriate, Maebh trusted him. Against all odds, she had even begun to consider him a friend. A friend you could only see so often before the mere sight of them would drive you mad.

"Have I sullied your name yet?" Maebh asked and took a bite of a scone, dolloped with cream and jam.

Hermès threw his head back and laughed, "By Momus, you jester!"

While the Arcadians had initially blamed Hermès for Maebh's disappearance. They had gradually concluded that there was something larger at play. And so, the blame game had been rotated and directed in a different direction: their own. Maebh suspected the royal family knew there was something fishy about the matter. And who could blame them? She had lied about going shopping in Whitehorse.

"I took the liberty to inspect your parents' wellbeing. Your mother's runes are still in place," Hermès said, his mouth stuffed with food.

"Thank you," Maebh smiled at him. She peered down at the mini appelflap on her plate and dissected it with her fork. Her appetite had waned at the mention of her parents.