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An otherworldly screech, and the harpy ripped from her flesh.

I shoved Veyka behind me. She shoved right back, Excalibur now in her hand, a dagger in the other.

“What in the Ancestors—Lyrena?”

Cyara dove for us, talons outstretched. Veyka was faster than me—in motion at the same instant as Cyara.

Not diving away from Cyara—divingforLyrena.

Lyrena had dropped all her weapons. Shucked off her cloak and goldstone armor. She was down to her thin tunic and pale leather vest. Veyka shoved her out of the harpy’s path, knocking her flat on the ground.

Veyka rolled, coming up in a fighting crouch.

But Lyrena didn’t move. She laid flat in the grass, staring up at the sky with a distant look of wonder.

“What is happening?” I roared, covering the ground to Veyka in a few steps. Isolde stood at her back, watching Cyara circling overheard, no doubt coming around for another dive.

We had seconds.

I didn’t try to shove Veyka to the side this time.

She hefted Excalibur above her head, but not in a fighting stance. She held it aloft, one hand curled around the pommel, the other around the top of the blade just below the tip. It should have sliced her hand open, but she wore the scabbard.

“Get away!” she yelled as Cyara dove.

Isolde moved fast for her size. I gave Veyka just enough space—enough that she was the target. Cyara’s claws closed around the metal blade and a screech of pain ripped from her throat. But Veyka was already throwing her body to the side, using her weight and size to her advantage, the momentum enough to send Cyara crashing down into the grass.

Ten thousand blades of grass surged up from the ground, encircling the harpy’s wings, then her limbs and her claws. Until she was prone in the grass, unable even to thrash.

Veyka was back on her feet in a second, Excalibur hanging from her side and murder in her eyes.

“What is happening?” she screamed—to whoever or whatever might answer.

“It’s this place,” Percival cried. He was near the tree line, almost obscured by the long trailing tendrils of the willow trees.

He fell to his knees, clutching his head. “You must resist it. It is enchanted, as a protection. It will drive you mad, to prevent you from getting too close to the sacred isle.”

“I remember…” Veyka grabbed my arm. “When I was here before. I felt… compelled. Out of my mind. I couldn’t control my movements.”

My eyes darted between Cyara and Lyrena, both on the ground now—to the faeries, wide-eyed. “Then why are the rest of us unaffected?”

“The amorite,” she breathed. She began ripping the studs from her ears. “You, me, Isolde—we all have on the amorite jewelry.”

Lyrena didn’t resist at all. Veyka ripped the gold hoop from her ear and shoved an amorite stud through. The effect was nearly instantaneous. Her eyes cleared and she shot upright. “What in the—”

“No time.” I dragged her up and half-across the clearing. We’d need her help to get one into Cyara.

All three of us—Veyka sitting on her chest, pinning her down with her knees—but we managed it. I didn’t release the grass binding Cyara until the last vestiges of the harpy slipped away and the fae female lay in her place once more.

Percival’s ears weren’t pierced, but Isolde was able to fashion a necklace.

It ended as suddenly as it had started. The only sounds punctuating the quiet clearing the heavy inhales and exhales of our breaths.

“Thank the Ancestors for your taste in jewelry,” Lyrena laughed, falling back in the grass.

Veyka’s mouth twitched in a half-smile, but she didn’t respond.

She was sitting up in the grass, cross-legged, thinking. I could see her mind at work as her eyes tracked between our companions—affected and unaffected, the dagger in her hand, and the island still shrouded in mist.