“Your Highness,” Thiete greeted, standing while Leander and Lucien remained seated. “Please, join us, if you are not meeting anyone.”
“Not until later. I would be delighted to join you while I wait.” Jarryn smiled, his gaze passing over the trio before lingering on Leander. His lips curled upwards and something passed over those bright, cobalt eyes, something Leander couldn’t place but didn’t like.
Lucien shuffled over on his bench to give Jarryn the space to join them.
“I’ll get the next round,” Vyrica’s prince announced, standing. “Are you okay with mead, Jarryn? Yes? Good.”
With Lucien gone, Leander kept his smile plastered in place.
After a few uncomfortable moments, Theite spoke. “We were just talking of the virtues of Saeren.”
“The city has many virtues,” Jarryn agreed.
“I sense there is a ‘but’ in there, Your Highness,” Theite said.
Jarryn inclined his head after a moment of hesitation. “Saeren is beautiful, with her people well cared for, but the kingdom is backwards in so many ways. People suffer, the less fortunate souls who you think are beneath you, with little worth. Those you call slaves. And you don’t even notice the trauma inflicted on these people. Because, in your eyes, they are barely people.”
Leander blinked, having never spent much time considering the strife experienced by those deemed to be nothing more than property. He had been to countries with slaves, and those without. All the while, he had just accepted their presence and status without question or concern.
Thiete was more prepared, however, and opened his mouth to respond. “But our way of life ensures that all members of society have a role to play in it.”
“That is dangerous thinking,” Jarryn said, frowning. “It presupposes your slaves have no worth beyond that which you give them. You chain people like animals and call itorder. It’s nothing but cruelty veiled thinly by the guise of control.”
“It’s survival, Your Highness. The mines won’t dig themselves, the fields won’t harvest their own crops.”
“Yet you shackle others—people—to your whims.”
“And you would have chaos rule instead? We cannotrisk the collapse of our society due to the natural laziness of people who have no direction or aspiration in life. Sacrifices must be made to maintain peace. If the economy collapses, the kingdom starves. What then? Do your high morals defend the helpless or feed the hungry?”
“You stand on the backs of the oppressed and call that a kindness. Do you honestly believe that your way of life, here in Vyrica, is more beneficial than that of the thriving nation of Desanne?”
“And what of the broke and poverty-stricken nation of Eamore, who didn’t thrive in the transition?”
“I wasn’t finished. We may not be perfect, but we abolished slavery decades ago and have seen no ill effects on theproductivityof our subjects. Yet you would keep kicking the downtrodden out of tradition.”
“I see the alternative—bloodshed, famine, anarchy. I have walked through villages where free men turn on each other over scraps of bread. It’s the bitter truth of survival.” Thiete smiled at Jarryn, though there was nothing funny about what he was saying, and the seriousness of it was almost too much. “If you tear this system apart, what will you replace it with? A world of dreams and lofty ideals?”
“As if the suffering of thousands is a price you’re willing to pay—because it’s not your blood being spilled. It’s not your family being branded and sold like cattle. You think their pain is necessary? No, Lord Thiete, it’s convenient for you.” Jarryn laughed mirthlessly. “You’re more delusional than I initially gave you credit for. You extinguish hope in every life you crush under your heel. You’re afraid to try a different path because it means admitting you’ve been wrong all along.”
“I am not afraid of being wrong. I am afraid of watching this kingdom fall because we listened to a fool who thinks that freedom can fill empty bellies. Dreamers like you walk an easy path well-trodden by people like me.” Thiete ground out his words, barely managing to keep a civil tongue as he spoke to the prince.
Jarryn turned his head, pinning Leander with a hard stare. “And what are your opinions on the matter, Myracle? What do the gods think of such an uncivilised culture?”
Leander didn’t even have to think. “Cysan holds dominion over those in service, be it forced or otherwise. He cares for them all and answers their prayers, just as I once did for people who called out to me. Unfortunately, sometimes the answer to those prayers is ‘no’.”
“So you’re saying you condone this abominable practice?”
“No, I’m saying it’s not for you or me, or even Cysan, to decide the fates of the poor souls who need his help. You’re looking for systemic change at a level even the gods cannot tackle and that doesn’t happen overnight, Your Highness.”
Jarryn opened his mouth, presumably to argue his point further, but was halted when Lucien returned with four flagons of mead.
“You’d think being a prince would mean I wouldn’t have to wait to be served,” Lucien muttered as he pushed flagons across the table to their recipients.
“With great privilege…” Thiete murmured.
“Comes great benefit,” Lucien finished off with a small laugh.
“We must get our kicks where we can,” Jarryn agreedamicably, the previous debate forgotten as he took a swig of his mead.
