She woke up feeling groggy. The same candle was still burning on the bedside table. She'd had a faint hope that she would wake up to find herself in her own bedroom, the one she shared with her sisters. She had dreamed of the man with the eyes of fire, dreamed of falling off the cliff and drowning in the vast sea. She couldn't make sense of anything. Could she have died and not realised it? Death was nothing like she had imagined.

Light, help me.

She lay there for some time, her mind blank. She couldn't focus on anything. Was there even a point in getting up?

She was thirsty. How could she be thirsty if she was dead? Sighing, she got up, stretching her arms. She took a peek into the other room. The man was nowhere in sight. Was he even a man? Shaking her head, she went in search of a drink.

"Looking for something, little girl?"

Jumping a foot into the air, she turned in the direction the voice had come from. He was sitting on her bed. How did he get there? She squeezed her eyes shut. She would not pass out again. Inhaling deeply, she opened her eyes once more. The man was now standing right in front of her. He was tall, taller than most people. He wore clothes of unrelieved black. Slowly, she craned her head to look him in the… well, in the place where his eyes should be. "As a matter of fact, I am. Could I have some water, please? Sir?" she asked politely. It never hurt to be polite, her mother always said.

He grinned at her. This time she noticed the flames dancing in his mouth as well as in his eyes. Blood and flaming ashes, she thought with a shudder. "Sir." He shook his head, obviously amused. "So polite. You are a well-trained pet. What is your name, little pet?"

She wanted to swallow before answering, but her mouth was too dry. She cleared her throat instead. "I'm Neya," she replied unsteadily. She was tempted to ask him the same question, but couldn't bring herself to do it. She was afraid of the answer.

"Neya," he repeated. He seemed to consider it for a moment, examining her, head cocked slightly to the side. She took the opportunity to study the rest of his face. He appeared to be in his middle years, a good-looking man with short dark hair and a straight nose. He was clean-shaven. All in all, he looked perfectly normal, if one could disregard the fire burning in his eyes and mouth. "Water is so bland. We'll have some wine instead. Do you like wine, little pet?"

"Sure. I'm just really thirsty." She didn't add 'sir' this time. It seemed to amuse him more than anything else.

He held out his hand toward the larger room. "This way." She couldn't bring herself to put her back to him, so she simply took a step back. He chuckled. "Fear not. I have no intention of harming you."

"Then what are your intentions?" she blurted out. "Why am I here? What is this place? Who are you?" Blood and ashes! She bit her lip to quell the flow of questions.

His laughter was a rich cackle. It sounded a bit unhinged. "You will be keeping the place clean," he announced simply, ignoring her other questions.

She blinked at him in astonishment. He couldn't be serious. "Did you just abduct me so I could be your housemaid?" she asked in a strangled voice.

He'd gotten a bottle of wine from somewhere. As she watched, the cork came out. He hadn't even touched the flaming thing.

Suddenly, she understood. She wasn't dead after all. He can channel. Light help me, he's a man who can channel.

The man hadn't bothered to answer her questions before leaving. He'd simply vanished into thin air, confirming her fear.

He'd poured her a glass of wine and told her where to find the kitchen – there was a hidden door behind one of the bookshelves. She had no idea why the kitchen was concealed behind the shelf, but amidst everything else, it seemed an insignificant detail. Inside, she'd found a stove, kitchen supplies and a barrel of water.

He had been gone for days now. She wasn't sure how many days exactly. As soon as she'd been certain he was gone, she made herself open the door leading outside again. She had to make sure there was no way to escape. Gingerly, she'd leaned outside as much as she dared to inspect the cliff, but it appeared to lead as far upward as it did downward. She could never climb it, even if she wasn't terrified of heights. Rock and water, and nothing else.

The only noises were the sound of the waves crashing at the base of the cliff and the strident cries of those strange white birds. For a while she simply stood staring at the sea, lost in thought, until she caught sight of an enormous shadow below the surface. At first she assumed it was a large school of fish – she knew very little of sea animals – but then she realised that it was in fact one colossal creature as it had come jumping out of the water, a dark, gigantic monster that made her stare in awe and tremble with fear at the same time. Light! Suddenly she was glad for the distance between her and the water below. She soon decided she'd spent enough time uselessly gazing outside and shut the door.

She was hungry now, and decided she might as well eat. She would probably die here, but it wouldn't be out of starvation. She made a simple broth and ate it with a chunk of bread and a piece of mouldy cheese.

The man said he wanted her to keep the place clean – she still couldn't believe the casualness with which he'd said it, as if it were a perfectly normal request – but there was no broom or any other cleaning implement to be found, so she spent most of her time perusing the volumes stacked on the shelves. Most of them were written in what she assumed was the Old Tongue. The few that she could read, those who were written in the Common Tongue, were all about history: chronicles retracing the reign of Arthur Hawkwing, biographies of long-dead kings and queens, the annals of the White Tower from its founding, a brief account on the Breaking. She read them all. What else could she do? She still hoped to find a clue as to where she was and why she was there, but came upon nothing obvious.

It had been weeks now, and the man hadn't come back yet. The food supplies replenished themselves overnight, she had no idea how. The fire in the hearth was constantly roaring, although the room temperature never seemed to alter; it was always pleasantly warm. After she'd finished the last book, she unearthed several old volumes that appeared to be lexicons, each apparently dating from a different era. Armed with that, she settled to decipher the books written in the Old Tongue.

How had her abductor come by these books? Some of them – most of them, really – had to be worth more than her parents' farm. She was working on the table of contents of an ancient volume which title she hadn't been able to translate when the man finally came back. She was sitting cross-legged on the bed, the ever-burning candle providing just enough light to read by, when he suddenly materialised in the doorway, startling her. Reflexively, she tried to hide the book behind her back. He grinned at her as the old book flew out of her hand toward him and promptly burst out with laughter when he saw the cover. "Trying to steal my secret recipes, are you, pet?" Recipes? Was this a cookery book? Of all the books stacked on the shelves, I had to pick that one, she thought with some irritation. The man looked up at her, his mirth gone as abruptly as it came. "Is there something to eat?"

Her eyes widened in outrage. The man had been gone for weeks and he simply expected there to be food waiting for him when he popped up without warning? She considered giving him a piece of her mind, but took a slow, calming breath instead. Luckily – for him – she had made some stew. "The pot is on the stove. Help yourself," she said.

"No, you will bring it to me at the table," he replied in a dangerous tone. Before she could say anything, he turned around and walked into the other room. Table? There is no table!

Well, there was one now. She watched him settle down on a carved wooden chair that hadn't been there either just a moment before. Shaking her head and cursing under her breath, she went into the kitchen to fix him a bowl.

"There's dust everywhere. I believe I told you to keep the place clean, girl," he said when she came back.

"Why, I'd be happy too. I don't suppose you have a broom hidden somewhere on your person?" she asked sarcastically. She regretted it as soon as the words left her mouth. The book he'd set on the table flew across the room and landed in the fire, where it was consumed almost instantly.

The man's eyes blazed. "You will watch your tone around me, girl." His voice was barely a whisper.

She swallowed hard. "But there is nothing for me to clean with," she told him meekly. He didn't answer, and started to eat without looking at her. It was as if she'd stopped existing. She waited for him to finish, standing still, not daring to move.

"I'll get you what you need," he finally said when he was done. A second later, he stood up and vanished.

She stood gaping at the chair for a moment. He'd only just come back! Why had he even bothered, if he was going to leave again minutes later? Surely he had other ways of acquiring food. This made no sense. That particular thought seemed to cross her mind at least twenty times a day, so she set it aside.

Sighing, she cleared the table. As she entered the kitchen, she noticed a broom and duster in a corner. Her laughter had a faint hysterical note to it as she rolled her sleeves up. She had some cleaning to do.