The man blinked owlishly at him.
Unable to bring himself to rescind the words, Hamish pressed on. “I’m assuming that, being the emperor’s son, you would have slaves. Or do they all belong to your father?”
Darshan frowned into his empty tankard, likely lamenting that state. “No, I have a handful. Gifts accumulated throughout my childhood, for the most part, which I share with Anjali. My twin sister,” he clarified, swirling his tankard then tipping it to drain the last few drops. “The nobility likes to make a show of gifting imperial children with their best and brightest. There were quite a few when we were born; wet nurses, valets and the like.”
“Gifts?” Hamish echoed, the word barely passing through his lips, shock near stealing his breath. He knew about the barbaric practice of buying and selling people like cattle, but gifting another as if they were mere trinkets? “They’re people.”
“Yes.” Darshan gave a bittersweet smile. “I am well aware of that, thank you.” He twirled his tankard, letting it rock on the counter without him laying a finger on it. The act got a few stares from nearby customers, but little else.
Hamish bit the inside of his cheek. The details he had heard of the Udynean slave markets was that the people weren’t considered as such. They were ranked as animals and—to his surprise and disgust in himself—he had been expecting such a response from their imperial prince. “I notice you didnae bring any with you.”
Laughter rumbled out the man’s barely-parted lips. “No doubt some kind-minded soul would have tried their hand at convincing them to stay.” He flashed another mirthless smile. “Simply put, a great deal of them are quite elderly, I would not have them risk their lives taking such a journey.”
“Elderly?” He supposed, given that the man looked to be in his late twenties, that the wet nurses and valets were likely to be at least a decade or two older. “All of them?”
Darshan gently rocked his head from side to side. “I do not like to consider their children as in my ownership, although they technically are, but yes. That neither I, nor my sister, have purchased younger slaves to replace those who are getting on in years is a topic that often circulates the court’s gossip wheel.” He snickered and flapped a hand. “Besides, even if I had done so, I can survive without people waiting on me.”
“Then why dinnae you free them?”
The man grew silent, running his tongue along his top lip as he clearly searched for an answer in the countertop’s beer-stained wood.
Hamish set his drink down.
“I will confess, the thought has crossed my mind.” The words grew quieter the longer Darshan talked, as if he dared not speak them. He swung about on his seat, all focus trained on Hamish like a boarhound on the hunt. “But it is a little more complicated than simply signing their freedom papers. There are laws in place for such acts. Mitigating factors on how many can be absolved of ownership at once, the amount they must be paid, where they must live afterwards, the sort of jobs they can take up…”
Hamish hadn’t ever considered there’d be any laws involved in slavery. Or that once being a slave would carry such a stigma. Yet Darshan spoke as if he expected any of his people to be treated in a manner akin to those branded with the Black Mark. Like criminals. His mother had abolished the punishment, which often didn’t fit the crime, before he was born, but people still eyed those carrying it with great suspicion.
“Not to mention the likelihood of them becoming victims to exploitation,” Darshan continued. “Without the tie of my ownership, I am uncertain what would become of them. I would not like to think my father would see them shuffled onto the streets, but the palace chamberlain might. The very reason as to why they were given their freedom can often turn a dedicated, hard-working slave into an impoverished free being.”
“But they would have their freedom.”
Darshan frowned. “Do not mistake it as twisted excuses. If there is one thing Udynea fosters in all her people, it is pride. And I know of many a poverty-stricken citizen who has preferred to die in the Pits than accept a helping hand in return for their freedom. But the very thought of my Nanny Daama relegated to the streets of Minamist…” He clapped a hand over his mouth, the lantern light flickering on his rings as he took a shaky breath. “I would be foolish indeed to think an elderly elven woman like her would survive long on her own, even if she is a strong woman.”
Hamish remained silent. It seemed the wisest option given that the man looked on the verge of tears. It was far from the reaction he had been expecting. It had to be the drink opening him up.
He ordered them another pint. He certainly needed another, what with the way the conversation was going, and having Darshan carted back to the castle draped unconsciously over the back of a pony might be preferable.
Darshan knocked back a few hearty swallows of his drink with barely the bat of an eye. The tankard slammed onto the counter, slopping more over the rim. “Alas, I think Daama might actually give me another of her clips over the ear if I tried to free her. She is a bit of a traditionalist.”
An odd expression took Darshan’s face. It was almost as if he spoke not of a slave, but of family, such as a cherished aunt or grandmother. Perhaps he did see her as such.
Hamish tapped on the handle of his tankard. His memories of his grandparents before the plague took them were dim, but he could imagine having a part of his family sent away without warning. The
