For all the attention Vandelin pays this statement, Benedict may as well have remained silent. He keeps his gaze fixed on Atticus, his expression pleasant, mild, entirely neutral.

"Exactly," he says, as if beatifically praising an apprentice who's answered a difficult question. "You catch on quick, Magister. Now that we're all on the same page here, why not start putting in the effort to earn yourself some freedom? I'm told that's how you all do things in Tevinter. We like to make our prisoners feel at home."

How many slaves did you have, Magister? How many of them looked like me?