Chapter 16

In, over, pull through, in, over, pull through…

Imogen repeated the words over and over again in her mind as she crocheted, weaving the hook and the wool in a pattern she was starting to get fluid in. Her eyes didn't stray from her work as she sat cross legged in the cottage, her mother across the room with her own sewing.

She worked carefully, trying to make her stitches even and neat looking as she worked the pattern. It had been a while since she'd crocheted but she wanted to do a good job for this.

"What are you making, Imogen?" Volva asked cheerily.

Imogen still didn't take her eyes off her work. Her hook moved slowly around the wool, whereas once she wouldn't have even needed to look she was so efficient. Things had changed. "A baby jacket." She mumbled distracted.

Though Imogen didn't see, her mother's eyes glinted, lips pursing in a smirk. "Who for?" she asked coyly. When Imogen didn't reply immediately, leaving an unmistakeable silence, she got even more intrigued, setting her sewing down on her lap. "Is there something you're not telling me, Imogen?"

Things had changed in the last few days Imogen had been with her parents. Or rather, Imogen had changed. Volva had noticed it quickly.

Instead of constantly brooding, Imogen had gotten back into needlework whenever she was in the cottage. Albeit, that wasn't often. She left quickly after breakfast and didn't come back until the evening, just before the sun set.

Volva didn't know where her daughter went while she was out but it didn't matter. Imogen used to go out a lot when she was younger, just to find peaceful places and explore. She assumed her daughter was reverting back to old habits. Either way, when Imogen came back she was peaceful, focused. She would eat quietly, then get on with her needlework until she slept.

It was a noticeable change in her dark, temperamental mood from a few days ago, but it made Imogen so much more bearable! Volva was glad her daughter seemed to be happier the last few days.

And now she was making a baby jacket. Volva had thought she'd recognised the other parts of the baby clothes, but it wasn't until she'd asked that she knew for sure what they were for. A baby jacket. Why would Imogen be making that?

Unless…

Imogen stilled finally under the question and Volva's smile widened, intuition tingling. Her heart picked up excitedly.

Imogen on the other hand, felt her mind race with panic. She couldn't tell her mother she was making the clothes for Elga's baby, wrapped only in a grubby blanket. He needed some clothes of his own and it made Imogen feel happy to be able to do this, to take care of the little boy. Maybe Elga would let Imogen hold him.

In her heart, she knew she was just trying to find comfort for her own loss in Elga's son. She was passing on her love for the dead child, onto the living one, so it wouldn't hurt so badly. She knew it was wrong, but she didn't care. It made her feel closer to her own dead son.

But she couldn't tell that to her mother. She couldn't tell her she left every day all day to meet with Elga in the forest, talking. Just talking.

She liked the company.

And she liked being around the baby.

Elga's son would be around the same age that Imogen's would have been if he had lived. That lovely little boy…just looking at him - even in Elga's arms - gave Imogen's heart a little peace, seeing him alive and healthy.

As healthy as he could be while they were homeless and desolate anyway, she noted bitterly in her head. Elga seemed to be able to breastfeed him fine despite her own malnutrition, but it was his lack of hygienic surroundings that concerned Imogen mostly. At least if he had some warm, clean clothes instead of a thin, dirty blanket, Imogen might keep him from harm of any illness at least.

She wasn't even sure if she'd ever see either of them ever again after Thor came back and she went home, but…she couldn't help it. In mere days, she already felt better. Calmer. More at peace with everything.

She was so lost in thought she'd forgotten the question by the time Volva stood up across the cottage and padded over, soft smile on her face. Imogen just watched her with a gentle, curious expression, pushing Elga out of her thoughts. Suspicion about her mother's secretive was what held her interest now.

Volva sat down in front of Imogen and her daughter only frowned as her mother clasped her hands warmly.

"Imogen…" Volva started, turning Imogen's hands over casually in her own. "Have you bled again yet?"

For a moment Imogen just blinked. Bled? What…she'd stopped bleeding from the birth a few weeks ago, but had not bled anything since. She hadn't been expecting her monthly bleed yet. It hadn't even crossed her mind. She'd had more pressing matters to consider than losing a little bit of blood.

Her frown deepened a fraction as she thought about it – she hadn't bled. She remembered on the day she slept in the forest that she'd thought she was beginning to bleed, but the cramps hadn't resulted in anything.

How long had it been since the birth now? Six weeks… she should be bleeding soon surely…

But she wasn't.

Suddenly, she understood what her mother's eager smile was about. "You have been in such ill temper lately," Volva went on in a diplomatically slow voice. "And I know that when I was pregnant, the first thing I noticed was the mood swings…if you haven't bled…"

Imogen just blinked, eyes roaming away from her mother as the thoughts rolled in her head. Was that it? Truly? Could her irrational behaviour be pregnancy hormones? Her mother had mentioned her uncharacteristic temper, but she didn't know the half of it. It made sense. It could be. Slowly, her eyes started to light up, shimmering.

She could be pregnant.

Her hand wondered from her needlework and smoothed over her stomach. She was bloated. She'd put it down to her lack of activity lately. Maybe it was due to a baby blooming instead.

She tried to imagine the little form that might be growing inside her. The more she thought about it, the more she fell in love with the idea. Suddenly, whether it was true or not didn't even seem to matter. She was happy to convince herself it was. She wanted a baby so much, and after she'd been so sure she was barren…

Imogen could remember how desperate she'd been to conceive. How she'd pushed herself into painful intimacies with Thor way too soon after her birth, just to try and get pregnant while she was so fertile…

If she was pregnant, it would all be worth it.

And everything would be alright again.

Thor would be happy.

She would be happy.

Life would go on…

A smile flickered over her face. Her cheeks felt stiff and strange as she did it – she wasn't used to smiling anymore.

Thor would be overjoyed. He would forgive her. Of course, she would apologise. Everything was so clear now. He hadn't deserved her reaction, the worry she'd put him through… but a baby would make it alright. It would bind them together all over again.

She saw how much he adored Shelby. How much he'd grieved for her son. She hoped this one was a girl; she wasn't sure they were ready for a son so soon after the last. It might feel like replacing him.

She could envision as she told him. The look on his face, the way he would engulf her in his arms, kiss her on the top of the head…the tangle of sheets as they crashed into bed together in a tangle of limbs and bodies, longing for each other…

By the time her gaze lifted back to her mother's, it was full of hope.

XXX

"Did you hear? Apparently Thor's party are riding back to Asgard."

Imogen grinned at Elga's words as the poor woman dove into a grubby apple, devouring it hungrily. Her son sat comfortably in Imogen's arms.

She sat with her back resting against a tree, the tiny baby cradled in her arms. He was half asleep. Squirming gently, but his eyes were closed, moaning quietly. Imogem beamed down at him adoringly.

He was beautiful. Even though she didn't long for him in the same way she had before, he was still beautiful. She hoped her baby would be as beautiful as him, as beautiful as Shelby. Of course, it would be beautiful; it would be Thor's child. And he was dazzling.

Imogen's cheeks ached she'd smiled so much since the talk with her mother. "I have something to tell him."

From her apple, Elga glanced up. "That you're a cold, sadistic bitch?"

Imogen snapped her gaze up from the baby, smiling chilling. "How am I sadistic?" she eyed the woman sat across the forest floor from her warily.

Elga shrugged, unfazed by her own bluntness. "You keep the company of those less fortunate than yourself to feel better. To make you feel better it must stir a positive feeling inside you, which implies you enjoy the suffering of others. Ergo, sadism."

Imogen's mouth shot open to argue…but she was so impressed with Elga's wording she just closed her mouth and nodded instead. Well, nobody had ever said Elga was stupid.

Only in her choice of men.

"And you abandoned your baby because you were jealous."

Imogen's eyes snapped into focus in a heartbeat, narrowing on Elga. Her smile had long gone, mouth now a thin scowl.

How did Elga know that? That night that Imogen had thought Thor was sleeping with Linda, she'd found Elga but she'd never admitted what had driven her away. Her pride would never let her, let alone how just plain inappropriate it would be to have told such a nobody the business of the king and queen.

She watched suspiciously as Elga's lips curved in a smile – she didn't seem fazed in the slightest. "Oh, please," she tipped her head to the side. "It was obvious."

Cursing in her head, Imogen's cheeks flushed slightly. Her head jerked away, suddenly finding a very interesting tree to her right.

"That doesn't make me sadistic." She grumbled under her breath.

She could feel Elga's grin widen; she didn't need to see it. "No." Elga agreed, munching a bite of apple. "But it does make you cold and a bitch."

Imogen said nothing.

Who was Elga to talk though? She'd framed Imogen to try and have her arrested. That was weird – who did that? Over a man, no less…still, it had backfired in the end, just as Imogen's actions had backfired on her.

Hopefully, Imogen had a brighter light at the end of the tunnel than Elga seemed to have though.

She shifted the little baby slightly in her arms and reminded herself what she'd been happy about – what she should still be happy about, if Elga hadn't distracted her. "I'm pregnant." She said quietly, eyes on the grass.

Earlier, she'd been happy about it. Saying it now, though… all of a sudden, a heavy feeling of dread settled over her and dampened her spirit. What was it? Her conscience about the last baby?

What if this baby was just as cursed as the last? What if she could never get over the loss of that one infant? In truth though, how did she know this baby was safe? How long would the witches curse last for? If she and Thor lost another baby…. Gods, Imogen wasn't sure she could survive that. If not in body, but in spirit – how could a heart broken like that ever be whole again?

She didn't even notice Elga's silence until the ragged woman finally broke it: "Are you sure?" she breathed, barely audible.

Imogen lifted her gaze numbly, wrenched out of her dark thoughts. She was surprised to see Elga's face even whiter than before, looking ashen. Why…?

"Pretty sure." She nodded dreamily, flittering her gaze away from Elga's. She found a small cluster of daisies on the forect floor and focused on those instead. "My mother is certain. She thinks my mood swings, and all the sleeping, bloating, my lack of bleeding…"

For another moment, Elga just stayed silent, still as could be.

"I haven't bled in months." She finally mumbled.

Imogen's heart twanged.

There was no way Elga was pregnant, but it just drove home the reminder of Elga's condition. She was destitute. Poor and thin and homeless – and sometimes Imogen forgot this. In their every day conversations, she'd forgotten.

She supposed someone as malnourished as Elga wouldn't bleed, wouldn't have the nutrients to lose. She'd gotten so accustomed to the bone thin arms and hollow cheeks, she didn't blink at them now. The dirty hair was second nature to Imogen. She barely noticed the filth on Elga's clothes anymore, hanging off her body ridiculously.

"There's a medicine woman across from the baker." Elga finally said quietly. "She would be able to tell you for sure-"

"No!"

The word shot out of Imogen's mouth before she could help it, cutting Elga off before she could say another word. Her gaze snapped up from the daisies, glaring at Elga. "No." she repeated again quietly, at Elga's startled expression. She shook her head once.

That woman… the one who had killed her baby…Imogen would never go to her again except for when she had a warrant for her arrest, with a squad of soldiers to take her away. Just thinking about that witch made her skin crawl, remembering the cold, merciless look in her amber orbs…

"You don't like healers?"

Blinking, Elga's wary face filled her vision again in a backdrop of brown and green. Elga's uncertain expression said it all.

Healer… as if, Imogen cursed bitterly in her head. "She is no healer." Imogen's voice trembled ever so slightly, feeling her rage inside quake whenever she thought of that woman…

Her son's murderer.

"I guess time will tell for itself." Elga finally said, clearing her throat and steering her eyes away from Imogen's hostile expression. "I don't know why you're bothering to tell me though."

Imogen just blinked, her expression softening. Her eyes darted to the ground bashfully. "You're the only friend I have." She murmured.

Elga just scoffed. "I wouldn't exactly call us friends."

Shrugging, Imogen smirked. "Then you're someone I dislike slightly less than I dislike everybody else."

Glancing up, she caught Elga's grin too. Given different circumstances, they could have been friends. If only Koli hadn't got in the way, they could have been close…

It was the first time Imogen had ever seen Elga smile. Really smile. Not a smirk or maddened grin – a soft, sweet smile. "Then I guess we are friends." She affirmed gently.

1 year – 62.5