Free Fey 02 - Changeling by Kristine Kathryn Rusch

created by the Fey as a hiding place, a large hole in the sky, like a box.   The interior was gray, the walls were invisible, but hard to the touch.   Nothing grew here.   Colors leached out of clothing, faces, and food.   Since Adrian was captured, he felt as if he had turned gray himself.
    He glanced around the cabin one more time. Lately he had been more of a servant than a teacher.   Rugar ordered him about like a slave.   The cabin was clean and swept as Rugar had commanded, everything in its place, and a fire constantly going.   Rugar had been gone a long time now, and he had instructed Adrian to start the fire two weeks after Rugar left.   The fire had been burning for a week, and still no Rugar.   Such a waste of resources.   But Adrian could say nothing.
    He sank into the chair closest to the fire and debated whether or not to make some root tea.   He wouldn't want to be too comfortable when Rugar got back, but then Rugar couldn't do much to him.   Adrian had shown over the years that he could withstand any realistic punishment the Fey dished out.   Jewel had requested that no magic be performed on him, and none had been.
    At least that he knew of.
    One thing he had learned, as the only Islander ever to live in the Fey world, was that Fey magic was subtle and often difficult to recognize.   It came in different forms, in strange types, and rarely had the flash he had always associated with magic.   If he were spelled, he doubted he would know it.
    But his feeling that they had left him alone was another of Jewel's legacies.   She had promised, if he cooperated, that they would treat him well within the confines of Shadowlands.
    That promise had held.
    He was frankly surprised.   He had been afraid that when Jewel left, she would take her assurances with her.   But Rugar had been too beaten by his own failures to notice Adrian, and after that, Adrian had become too much a fixture in Shadowlands, teaching Fey the Isle language and customs, and helping with manual tasks too menial for the magical to perform.
    Rugar had turned his anger on Adrian only once, and then Mend, one of the Domestics, had intervened.
    Adrian pushed himself up.   The thought of Mend always made him restless.   Unlike the other magical Fey (the non-magical were a different matter), Mend treated him with respect.   She spoke to him one being to another instead of master to servant.   She smiled at him when she saw him, and went out of her way to speak to him.
    She was too slender and had deep circles under her eyes — Domestics were overworked and slept little — but her dark hair was glossy, and he found himself at the oddest moments thinking about the upswept angle of her eyebrows and the thin line of her mouth.
    Prisoner bonding.   Someone had told him about it.   Prisoners would eventually identify and idolize their captors.   He had once thought it impossible, but now he wasn't so sure.
    At least he wasn't idolizing Rugar.
    Voices sounded close outside.   Adrian stood guiltily — he didn't want to be caught relaxing in Rugar's home — and wiped his hands on his pants.   Then he crouched in front of the fire, straightening the wood pile, doing makework to look busy.   He had heard voices like this in the days previous and nothing had come of it, but he decided then that it was better to act as if Rugar had come home rather than to be surprised.
    The voices sounded angry, confused.   He couldn't make out the words, but he thought he recognized a few of the Domestics, speaking in urgent tones.   The Domestics had been on edge for days because the Shaman was unhappy.   She had seen a Vision that had so deeply disturbed her that she came out of her cabin to talk with Rugar who was, of course, gone.
    It seemed odd to Adrian that the Fey's Shaman hadn't known that the military leader was gone.   But then the more he watched the Fey, the less he understood them.
    His back was getting stiff.   He switched positions.