Chapter Eleven
H e never came for me.
Weeks passed by since the morning he went to secure the elder reader to confirm our supposed bond and five words will never be truer.
After my aunt and I left our former village, we found another who was much more accepting of my special circumstances. Well, I’m not sure if accepting would be the right term. The elders here much prefer not to know the details so that they can appear more accepting of the situation.
Not that I mind either way.
I don’t care to tell them that I am a broken halfling carrying a tribreed child and my fae genetics are making my pregnancy progress at about twice the rate of a normal magickals pregnancy.
Titling my head up, I let the sun warm my skin. The clearing I sit in is one of my favorite spots. No one comes here much because the only thing that grows are flowers. No herbs or useful roots. No water source. Just a small clearing with dots of pretty flowers all around me, and a large section in front of the trees covered in quickly yellowing bushes.
The sight and smell of the blossoming forsythia bushes remind me of that night nearly three months ago now, when I lost myself in ways I never should have allowed.
Movement flutters across my stomach, bringing a smile to my face as I press my hand over the growing mound. I may only be three months along, but I appear closer to six months.
Aunt Olive and the village healer estimate that I only have another month–maybe a tiny bit more–until my babe makes their arrival.
I may have had a swift pregnancy, but it has not been without its troubles. Thankfully that sickness only plagued me for the first few weeks. However, I fear some of that may have also been due to other pains I was experiencing. Once that passed, I realized that with my quickly growing belly, I was experiencing difficulty with my body not having time to properly adjust to the changes.
In short, my body ached as if I were turning one hundred this winter instead of twenty-two.
My age is another little secret we have kept from our new neighbors. As is my baby’s father.
As far as I am concerned on that matter though, my baby was simply a gift from the Gods. No father was involved. Not now, not ever.
That man that supposedly loved me can just enjoy his life with his new demon mate and kindly fuck off.
Like all the way off.
With fire ants in his drawers that nibble at his testes.
Yes, I know. Don’t wish ill on others. But he started it by breaking my heart.
And yes, I know that sounds childish.
Do I care?
Not one fucking bit.
Now where was I?
Oh yes! Fire ants biting testicles and–
“Do you plan to just lay around all day out here, little mother?”
Turning I see Aunt Olive’s sweet face smiling down at me and can’t help a small giggle.
“Well since you kicked me out of the kitchen and told me to relax, I thought this might be a nice spot to do just that.”
“Oh yes, it very much is. The nearly five hours that you have been here that is. Most pregnant women have insatiable appetites. Why am I constantly reminding you to eat?”
At the mere mention of food, my stomach erupts into a fit of grumbles, making me laugh even harder.
I reach up with both arms and Aunt Olive grasps hold to pull me up. Ever so grateful for the slightly enhanced strength all magickals seem to possess as I feel like I weigh damn near a ton.
We walk with our arms locked back to the house Olive built for us. Complete with a room for the baby, once they are old enough to be on their own. Her fast work at remodeling the abandoned dwelling the town gave us was a blessing. She can see so much potential in all sorts of buildings and has made herself invaluable to the village as well. Addressing structural issues and repairs before they even begin to actually cause problems.
When we get closer to the house, my aunt clears her throat before speaking gently. “I’m not sure if you care to know, and I have struggled with passing along this information, but it would seem that all trading between the old village and the demons has been cut off. In fact, there are even some saying that fights have broken out between the two.”
Olive’s words are a punch to my hungry stomach.
Or–I mean–that demon leader was always well-liked by his people and was always so kind to everyone. “I wonder what triggered all of that ridiculousness.”
I hadn’t meant to say the last of my thoughts out loud, and Olive simply gave a noncommittal noise in return. Instead, she ushers me into the house where the smell of something cooking has me instantly alert. When I turn a wide-eyed stare at Olive she holds her hands up in a defensive pose.
“Listen, I was hungry, and someone ate the last of the lemon bread. That meant I had to make something. It was...well the house still smells a bit ok?”
She rushes over to the window and throws it open while fanning some of the scent out.
I laugh as I move to snag a bowl, filling it with oils and placing it on the dining room table. It begins to quickly absorb the putrid smell of Olive’s lunch, replacing it with the aroma of juniper and orange.
Olive pulls out some fresh mushrooms and smiles at me hopefully. With a simple nod, I begin to work on her favorite quiche.
As a kitchen witch, I feel most at peace when making food. I quickly settle into a groove as I mix and pour, creating a meal we will both enjoy.
The kitchen seems to be the one place in this world that lets me forget about my broken heart and lets me focus on new beginnings.