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it. But for the moment, he wanted to concentrate on Lyndred’s Vision.
    “How did her skin feel?”
    “Like skin.”
    “Not too cold or smooth, like rock?”
    Lyndred made a face of disgust. “No.”
    He let out a small breath. A Golem—even one with a life of its own—could be discovered by touch.
    “Why?” Lyndred asked.
    He shook his head, not quite willing to let go of the image. It would have explained so much: Arianna’s oddly prescient knowledge, her use of Rugad’s phrases, her similarities to him. But she was clearly her own person—and that person had a bit of Rugad in her.
    None of Bridge’s remaining siblings had any of their grandfather’s personality. Nor did any of Bridge’s children, or his nieces and nephews, at least the ones he had met on Galinas. Only Arianna seemed to have any bit of Rugad in her.
    If she was like this, then what was Gift, the child raised by the Fey? He must have been very gentle, to want to be a Shaman. Or was he gentle only in comparison to his sister?
    “You’re being very quiet, Daddy.”
    “I was thinking,” he said. “Was that all there was to your Vision?”
    Lyndred sighed and her lower lip jutted out slightly. The expression was nearly a pout, but not quite, and not intentional. He’d seen that all her life. It was the expression she got when she didn’t really want to share something, but saw no choice.
    “There was a man who looked just like her, with the same eyes and everything, and he came here, to the palace. And then she crumbled, and then there was blood everywhere.”
    “By the Powers.” Bridge’s heart had started to pound.
    “What does it mean, Daddy?”
    “Did the man touch her? Is that why she crumbled?”
    “No,” Lyndred said. “It was three quick Visions. The first was of this man, coming to the palace. The second was of Arianna crumbling, and the third was of the blood. But they seemed to happen one right after another, like they were related.”
    Bridge knew better than to make a story out of Vision. He had been trained not to. But it seemed so easy, so logical with this one. Gift arrives, decides he doesn’t like how Arianna is running everything and kills her, leading to Blood against Blood. Perhaps no one had warned Jewel’s children of the dangers of war within the Black Family. Maybe they really didn’t know.
    Lyndred was staring at him as if she hadn’t really seen him before. “It’s bad, isn’t it?”
    “It might be,” he said. “But I’m not an expert.”
    “There aren’t any Shaman here. I’ve been spending all morning wishing for one. I’d like to talk to somebody who’d know, and who’d keep the secret.”
    Bridge wished she could. “There are no Shaman on the Isle,” he said.
    “Then we can go to Nye and consult one. Please? Let’s leave.”
    He took her hands in his. They were cold and clammy, and she clung to his fingers tightly. “First, let me hear what else you’ve Seen. Was this the only Vision you had?”
    “Today, yes.”
    “Have you ever Seen that man before?”
    “The one who looks like Arianna?” Her lips thinned and she blinked hard. He thought for a moment that she was going to turn away, but she didn’t. “He’s the one who kills you, Daddy.”
    A shiver that he couldn’t hide ran through Bridge. “He kills me—how?”
    “In a boat. You drown, Daddy.”
    “He pushes me over?”
    “He’s there when you go in.”
    “And I drown.”
    “Yes.”
    “Does he try to save me?”
    “I don’t know.”
    Bridge’s stomach twisted. “Do you actually see me die?”
    She shook her head.
    He let out a small breath of air. Then maybe she wasn’t seeing his death at all, but something important, some kind of turning point.
    “And that’s the only other time you’ve Seen this man?”
    “No,” she whispered.
    “What else have you Seen?”
    “He’s holding a baby, a newborn baby, and he’s crying.”
    Bridge wished even harder for a Shaman. None of this made any sense, and