Free Fey 02 - Changeling by Kristine Kathryn Rusch Page A

  The fire was hot this close.   He would have to leave soon, but he didn't want to while there was a crowd outside.   Most of the Fey remaining in Shadowlands knew that Adrian acted now as Rugar's private servant, but not all of them liked the fact that Rugar had a servant.   Only Rugar, being the Black King's son and the nominal leader of the group, never heard the complaints.
    Adrian did.
    He put his hand on the wood floor and braced himself to stand when he heard a voice that made him freeze.  
    Rugar's voice.
    It sounded harsh and biting.   Then, before Adrian could stand, the door swung open and banged against the outside wall.   The gray mist that swirled inside the Shadowlands drifted in, its chill accompanying it.   Rugar stood in the door, his long, thin frame encased in a black cloak that kept the moisture off his body.
    A group of Domestics stood outside.   From his position on the floor, Adrian could barely see them.   They were talking among themselves, like a group about to break up.
    "What are you doing here?"   Rugar snapped.
    Adrian knew better than to provoke Rugar farther.   Slow movement, reasonable tones of voice often worked best.   "You had asked me to start tending your fire this week in anticipation of your return."
    "The fire seems fine."   Rugar pulled the door closed.   He took off his cloak, shook the water off the outside fibers, and tossed it on one of the wooden chairs.   "Is there any food?"
    "No, sir."   Adrian pushed himself up.   He had remained in good shape during his stay in Shadowlands, but he was no match for any Fey — especially one like Rugar, trained in all forms of combat.   "I could get some from the Domestics."
    "I could have done that myself," Rugar said.   He pushed another chair back with his foot, then sat.   He was drawn and too thin, his normally sharp features almost bony in their prominence.   His almond shaped eyes seemed even more slanted, his high cheekbones more pronounced.   Most Fey faces had a whimsical beauty,   but Rugar's did not.   It had a proud strength, like that of a bird of prey.   Not beautiful but striking nonetheless.
    And even more so now, on this afternoon, although Adrian would be hard-pressed to say why.
    "Your larder is poorly stocked, sir, since we did not know when you would be back —"
    Rugar waved a hand for silence.   "I understand the Shaman came out."
    "Yes, sir."   Adrian knew better than to offer more information than was requested.
    "The Domestics say her Vision was bleak, so bleak she wanted to find me."
    "I don't know, sir.   They never tell me Fey matters."
    Rugar looked up as if seeing him for the first time.   "No," Rugar said.   "Of course they don't."
    Rugar grabbed the heel of his right boot and pulled it off.   His foot was wrapped in thick stockings stained with mud.   He tossed the boot at Adrian's feet, then removed the other boot and tossed it as well.  
    Adrian picked them up without being told.   He would take them to Mend — as he had ever since the day she found him trying to clean them himself — and then bring them back in spotless condition.
    "Tell me, oh great and wise Islander," Rugar said, massaging his toes, "what happens on the Isle when a king dies?"
    Adrian's grip tightened on the still warm boots.   "Excuse me?"
    "When you lose your king, what happens?"
    Custom.   Custom and tradition.   That was what Adrian was there for, to teach the Fey custom and tradition.   Rugar was simply playing with him, taunting him while trying to gain information.   And Adrian couldn't lie because the Fey had assured him that if they discovered any untruths, they would murder Luke.
    "The kingship is hereditary, is that what you're asking, sir?"
    "No."   Rugar put his feet on the floor and stretched.   His clothes were wrinkled and stained.   Some of the stains were mud, and others looked like grass stains.   That too was odd.   Rugar was in a position to have Domestic made clothing,