Leira’s face doesn’t change as she takes me in. “Go ahead and roast me alive if you’d like,” she says mildly. “But Aris and the others won’t be far behind. I just thought I’d fly ahead of them and demand surrender now, to make things simpler. There’s no need for a high-speed chase or overdramatic fight scene. You may be powerful, changeling, but I do have numbers on my side.”

Isolde laughs, harsh and humorless. “We’re not going to surrender to you.”

The trees behind her rustle, and for a second, I think they’ve already caught up to us, and all is lost. Despite myself, I’m relieved when a disheveled Raze and Olani burst out of the brush instead, gasping for air.

“Aris,” Raze gasps. “Right behind us.”

Then he looks up and sees who we’re talking to. All the blood drains from his face.

In the moment their eyes lock, while Leira is distracted, Isolde springs forward. I can’t see exactly what happens in the darkness; I just feel her moving, sense the gleam of a blade thrown in Leira’s direction, and then the sharp jerk as Leira turns from Raze to the knife and knocks it aside with a gust of wind.

For a second, it spins out of control, speeding mercilessly straight for Raze’s heart, before she flicks her fingers again and the knife comes to a sudden, dead halt, hovering in the air just a breath away from his chest. He hadn’t even had time to cry out, but now he flinches.

“Careful,” Leira chides Isolde, letting the blade drop with an anticlimactic thunk.

Raze grits his teeth, looking a little like he wished the knife had finished the job. When he speaks, it sounds like someone trying to be polite to the hangman, even as the noose chokes them.

“Hello, Aunt Leira.”

The head of the Wild line, most powerful enchanter in the land, adjusts her bodice and smiles, sugar-sweet. “Nephew,” she says, in a mathematically measured voice, “I think you and I have some things we need to discuss.”

“What are you doing here?” He tries to sound angry, but there’s a faint shake in his voice.

She looks disappointed in him for asking such an obvious question. “I’m just trying to take back what belongs to me. So what’ll it be, changeling? Are you going to come willingly and spare your friends? Or would you like to make this more interesting?”

I feel frozen. I should run. I should use magic. I should do something. But she’s standing between me and everyone else. I’m alone, and I can’t do anything except stand here, coldly rooted to the spot, thinking about how impossible it is that this is happening.

“Seelie,” Isolde prompts, clearly meaning for me to blast Leira with fire. When I don’t respond, she turns to Leira. “What do you want with her?”

Leira again looks disappointed, like she’s teaching a class we’re all failing. “The same thing Raze wants. Access to the Mortal’s Keep. I’ll hand it to you, nephew, using a changeling to activate the compass is something I never thought of. But your little adventure ends now, one way or another.” Her head tilts as she looks at me. “Shall we?”