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Yoshani, who acted as host and counselor to the people who, in need of peace or guidance, found their way to this part of Sanctuary.
    Glorianna also had a room here, connected to his by the shared bathroom. But she hadn’t left the Island in the Mist since she’d returned from
that place.
    He shook his head, unwilling to think about that right now—especially when his skin felt clammy all of a sudden.
    A bath and some sleep. Later he’d go downstairs and get something to eat.
    As he ran water in the bathtub, he looked in the mirror over the sink. Tired green eyes looked back at him. His black hair had gotten long enough to look shaggy. He’d have to stop at a barbershop soon and get it cut. His skin was browned a bit from all the time he spent outdoors, but it wasn’t leathery or lined, so he didn’t look older than his almost thirty years. He wasn’t dangerously handsome like Sebastian, but women thought he was attractive, and that was good enough for him.
    This was the second time in two weeks that his island hadn’t been where he thought it should be, the second time he had felt a resistance when he tried to bring it to him. The island was attuned to him, so that shouldn’t happen—unless something was interfering with his connection to it.
    Glorianna? No. She knew how much he depended on being able to impose his island over other landscapes in order to tend all the bridges. She knew the value of having fresh water available and being able to camp out overnight without worrying about thieves or anyone else who might want to prey on a lone traveler. Glorianna knew these things. But what about Belladonna?
    It was anyone’s guess what Belladonna knew.
    It was anyone’s guess what Belladonna might do.
    He still loved his sister. He did. But he was tired of not having the things other men took for granted: a partner, a home. He was tired of being a traveling Bridge. He wanted to do something more with his life, wanted to
be
more.
    He didn’t know how to do any of those things without feeling like he had abandoned the people who needed him most—his mother, his sister, the rest of the family.
    Currents of power swirled around him once, twice, leaving him a little off balance.
    “Those are troubles for another day,” he sighed as he turned off the taps and stripped out of his dirty clothes. Settling into the water, he leaned back, closed his eyes, and tried to ignore the confusion filling his heart.

T hey call themselves Tryad, children of the Triple Goddess. They crept into the city of Vision, pathetically hoping to gain a foothold here, but my wizards caught two of the creatures for my examination.
    A Tryad is three beings who inhabit a core body, which consists of the brain (but the mind is distinct to each), the internal organs, and bones. Height doesn’t change, and there is no significant difference in weight between the aspects, as they refer to themselves. However, there are sufficient differences in muscle and body shape to be noticeable, especially between the weakest and strongest of the three. Each has a distinct face, and features like the color of skin, eyes, and hair can vary widely. Each has its own personality, its own memories, although they can share an experience to some degree.
    One member of a Tryad has a brand on the left arm—a heart within a triangle. This allows them to identify others of their race, since they are never open about their presence in a city.
    This ability for only one of them to bear the proof of a physical change fascinates me, so I have conducted some tests. Violations like burns or cuts on one have no effect on the other two. Despite being part of the shared core, a broken bone, if it is a clean fracture, only hobbles the one on whom the injury was inflicted, although the other two experience weakness and pain in that limb and are severely limited in its use. A fever produced in one will weaken the other two to some degree, or they may suffer a minor version of the