Chapter Twenty-One
Brigid
I wait outside Eira ’ s door, my hand poised to knock. Doubt gnaws at my gut. Do I really want to burden her with my shitty mood? Everyone ’ s got their own problems to deal with. But the weight in my chest is suffocating, and I have no one I can talk to.
Before I can second-guess myself again, I rap my knuckles against the wood.
“ Come in!” Eira ’ s lilting voice floats through the door.
I push it open, stepping into a whirlwind of papers and leather-bound tomes. Eira sits cross-legged on her bed, surrounded by stacks of books. Her eyes light up when she sees me.
“ Brigid! What a lovely surprise!” She sets aside the massive text in her lap and pats the space beside her. “ Sit.”
“ Thanks.” I perch on the edge of the bed. My gaze darts around the room, taking in the organized chaos. Every surface is covered in papers, scrolls, and texts. It ’ s exactly what I ’ ve come to expect from Eira—of course an owl shifter would have a little a nest of knowledge.
“ How are you?” Eira asks, her head tilting in that birdlike way of hers. “ You seem a little upset.”
I shrug, picking at a loose thread on my sleeve. “ Just... you know. Stressed about the Harrowing, I guess.”
“ Is that all?” she probes gently.
I bite the inside of my cheek, warring with myself. Part of me wants to spill everything—my anger at Lochan, who our new dean really is—or more accurately, was—to me. But old habits die hard.
“ Yeah,” I lie. “ That ’ s all.”
Eira ’ s eyes narrow. “ Are you sure there ’ s nothing else?”
I cross my arms tightly, averting my eyes. “ Isn ’ t that enough?” I laugh half-heartedly. “ I mean, impending probable death is kind of a downer.”
She nods. “ The Harrowing will be a challenge. But you ’ ll be fine. We all will.”
“ Why do you think that?”
“ Just a hunch.” Eira fiddles with the corner of a paper next to her. “ Plus, there are usually only one or two deaths, so the odds are in our favor.”
I swallow hard, trying to keep my face neutral. Only one or two...
“ You sure that ’ s all that ’ s got you so tense?”
“ I ’ m sure. I ’ m fine.”
“ Hmm,” Eira hums, unconvinced. “ Well, if you ever want to talk about what ’ s not fine, I ’ m here.”
I nod, throat tight. Part of me yearns to open up, to share the burden. But the walls I ’ ve built are high and solid.
“ Thanks,” I say softly. “ I appreciate that. But really, I ’ m just nervous about tomorrow.”
Eira holds my gaze for a moment longer, then turns away with a slight shrug. She moves to her cluttered desk, her steps light as she crosses the room. My eyes follow her as she reaches for an enormous book, bound in dark leather, its spine cracked and pages yellowed with age.
Her slender fingers caress the cover reverently before she lifts it with both hands, cradling it like the fragile thing it is. The care in her movements triggers my curiosity.
“ I ’ ve been researching,” Eira says, her voice taking on a hushed, almost reverent tone. “ About the Morrigan.”
My heart skips a beat. “ What did you find?”
She opens the book carefully, its ancient spine creaking in protest. “ So you know that The Morrigan is a goddess, right?”
I nod. “ Right. Of war and chaos.”
“ The Morrigan isn ’ t just a goddess of war and chaos,” Eira explains, her eyes scanning the faded text. “ She ’ s also deeply connected to fate and prophecy.”
I try to keep my voice steady. “ How so?”
“ According to this text, she cast a forbidden spell long ago, during the time of the Shadow Wars.” Eira continues, her words measured and careful. “ A spell meant to bring her and her lover, the Raven King, back to the realm.”
“ What do you mean, bring back?”
“ She used dark magic, and against the other deities ’ wishes and warnings, she cast a spell that meant the Raven King and she would someday be reunited. It cost her everything, though.” Eira ’ s face is flushed, and she speaks quickly. “ The Morrigan poured her divine essence into the spell, and she lost her divinity.”
My skin prickles with goosebumps. The air in the room suddenly feels thick, charged with an energy I can ’ t explain. “ She lost her—so she stopped being a goddess?”
Eira looks up, her eyes meeting mine, and nods. “ The text says that the prophecy speaks of a vessel. And that when The Morrigan returns, she will be both divine, and not divine.”
My heart pounds in my chest. I fight to keep my expression neutral. “ What does that mean?” I manage to ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
Eira shakes her head slightly. “ I ’ m not sure yet.”
I nod, trying to process this information.
But as Eira returns to her book, I ’ m left grappling with this new piece of the puzzle. The pieces are starting to fall into place, and I ’ m not sure I like the picture they ’ re forming.
“ There ’ s more,” Eira says, her fingers tracing the yellowed pages. “ The prophecy mentions a great upheaval, a shifting of power that will rock the supernatural world to its core.”
My stomach clenches. “ What kind of upheaval?”
Eira ’ s forehead wrinkles. “ It ’ s not entirely clear. The text is cryptic, full of riddles and metaphors. But from what I can gather, the return of the Morrigan and the Raven King will challenge the established order.” She closes the book, a puff of dust escaping the pages. “ I ’ m guessing that doesn ’ t bode well for the Council ’ s control.”
“ Do you think they know?” I ask casually. “ About the prophecy, I mean.”
Eira nods slowly. “ I ’ m almost certain they do. And if I had to guess, they ’ re probably trying to find a way to use it to their advantage.”
Icy fingers run up my spine. “ How?”
“ Think about it,” Eira says. “ If they could control the vessel—the person meant to bring back the Morrigan—they could potentially harness the Morrigan and her power for themselves. Can you imagine having the power of a god?”
My mouth goes dry. I think of Fiona, of her betrayal, of the Council ’ s interest in me. Fuck.
“ That ’ s... terrifying,” I manage to say.
Eira nods absentmindedly, reaching for another book.
I open my mouth, then close it. The words stick in my throat. I want to tell her everything—about my file in Dean Charling ’ s office, about Fiona and how she was watching me before I even came to the academy, about the Council tossing me in a dungeon and Rory being sucked into a rift in reality that Marius and I opened, about the paintings in the ritual chamber of the Morrigan and the Raven King, and the others—about all of it.
But I don ’ t.
“ What else does it say about this vessel?” I ask, trying to keep my voice casual.
Eira flips through a few more pages. “ Not much that ’ s concrete. It mentions the vessel will be ‘ marked by fate. ’ Pretty vague, honestly.”
I take a deep breath.
“ Oh, there is one more interesting bit,” Eira says, her eyes lighting up. “ It talks about the vessel having multiple fated mates.”
My heart skips a beat. “ Multiple?”
“ Mm-hmm. Five, to be exact.” She looks up at me, a small smile playing on her lips. “ Can you imagine? One mate is complicated enough. But five?”
I force a laugh, hoping it doesn ’ t sound as hollow as it feels. “ How do they come into play?”
Eira ’ s brow furrows as she scans the text. “ It ’ s not entirely clear. The prophecy speaks of the mates as both protectors and catalysts. They ’ re meant to shield the vessel, but also to help awaken her full power.” She looks up at me, her eyes bright with curiosity. “ Fascinating, isn ’ t it? Also—”
I nod, masking my apprehension. My mind races, thinking of Callen, Lochan, Rory, Tiernan... and Marius. Five fated mates. Protectors and catalysts.
Her expression is unreadable. “ They ’ re also meant to keep her power in check. To prevent her from being consumed by the Morrigan ’ s essence, I think.”
I swallow hard. “ That ’ s... intense,” I manage to say.
Eira nods, closing the book with a soft thud.
Needing to change the subject I decide to bring up the guy Eira was dancing with at the masquerade ball. It feels like it was so long ago now. I ’ ve seen the two of them together a few times since, and Eira seems smitten with the lanky, shy boy. “ So,” I say, forcing a playful tone, “ how are things going with Finn?”
Eira ’ s cheeks flush instantly. “ What?”
I grin."You two seem to be spending a lot of time together, lately."
She ducks her head, a curtain of light brown hair falling to hide her face. “ He ’ s nice.” she mumbles. Eira peeks up at me, her blush deepening. “ We ’ re... meeting tonight,” she admits softly.
“ Really? That ’ s great!” I ’ m genuinely happy for her, despite my own messy situation. “ Where are you going?”
Eira tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “ Just for a walk around the grounds. Nothing fancy.”
“ Sometimes simple is best,” I say, giving her a reassuring smile. “ I ’ m sure it ’ ll be nice.”
She nods, then glances at the clock on her nightstand. “ Oh! I should start getting ready.” Eira hops off the bed, suddenly a flurry of nervous energy. “ Do you think I should wear my hair up or down?”
I laugh softly, grateful for the distraction from my own troubles. “ Down. Definitely down.”
As I help Eira get ready for her date, chatting about inconsequential things, I push thoughts of prophecies and fated mates to the back of my mind. The Harrowing is my biggest concern right now. I can think about the rest if I actually survive.
I step into the hallway, the heavy wooden door creaking shut behind me. “ Good luck, Eira. For tonight. And for the Harrowing.”
“ You too,” she calls back. “ Good luck.”
I trudge back to my room. The weight of isolation settles over me like a shroud.
Fuck, I think. I ’ d kill for a drink right now.
My mind drifts to the guys—Rory, Callen, Tiernan. A dull ache pulses in my chest. I miss them, their warmth. Just because I ’ m in on the plan now and know they ’ re not really avoiding me, doesn ’ t mean it doesn ’ t suck.
I reach my door, hesitating with my hand on the knob. The thought of spending tonight alone, obsessing about the Harrowing tomorrow—that sucks most of all.
I push open the door and step inside, letting out a long breath as it clicks shut behind me. The silence is deafening.
“ Just get through the next three days,” I whisper to myself, leaning back against the door. “ Get through the Harrowing. Then figure out the rest.”