They teleport away from their daemons, experience a moment of barely-there discomfort apiece, and keep them in a well-warded closet together where they will not be readily discovered or vulnerable.
The Liandrils report on the situation to some other mages.
Some other mages are... even more concerned than they are.
This Isabella character has clearly got to go, or at least be brought under some reasonable semblance of control.
What is the obvious way to do this?
Well, to these mages, the obvious way is:
They scry on her owl. He is having a rest in this tree, correspondence about obscure magic attached to his leg; he's not near her, but as they understand it, that doesn't mean there's no connection to exploit.
They come in a group so they don't need to linger longer than is necessary to seize the bird in three pairs of coordinated hands and then disappear again.
Miles away, in her kitchen, with a vial of safflower oil in one hand and a spellbook in the other, Isabella collapses breathlessly to the floor and convulses.
He notices, of course. It doesn't bother him, Path can be casual about it. He just won't be, it'll be up to Path to solicit boyfriend pets. Adarin mumbles, "I'm glad me petting Path didn't hurt you."
"How'd you know it wouldn't hurt you?" she asks.
"...Taking apart why it hurt when it was them," says Path, preening back. "I think. There were reasons, once it was - there to look at instead of guessing, and - the reasons aren't there with him - so it wouldn't - and it didn't - and I needed it to not be just them on that - list."
Vernaia nods. "We're so sorry it happened. We - we know why it hurt, with Enathira, and you don't hurt us, because we love you. But we don't think we can do it casually, or for - fun. Not yet, maybe eventually. We're sorry."
"It's okay. Don't be sorry," says Path. Preen, preen. "We're not the same person. It doesn't have to be the same."
"Thank you," she replies. Wingsnuggles. "We love you so. We didn't want to disappoint you."
Nuzzle. "We agree. My Adarin feels guilty because he thinks he could have been faster."
"You didn't know about us. When you learned, you went as fast as you could go. We don't blame you, we never did," says Vern.
"And all you needed was a broken window and a strung bow," says Path. "You didn't leave my Isabella alone. We wouldn't have blamed you but you didn't."
"We couldn't have. Not after knowing what it's like and loving you. We would sooner throw ourselves off a cliff than leave someone we love to that."
"It would be very rude of us when you have gone to such lengths to demonstrate," agrees Path.
Vern snickers. "That wasn't the point of why we did any of it, but... Yes. That. I'll go with that."
Adarin looks between the two birds. "Do I even want to know what you're talking about?"
"It's rude to interrupt daemons' discussions," she says sagely.
"You just look like you're cuddling," drawls Adarin.
"That, too."
"We are talking about you, obviously. What else would we talk about?" says Path. "Daemons do not have to pass the daemon version of the Bechdel Test."
"I have no idea what that is," says Adarin. "But sure, go ahead with talking about me. Only good things, though."