“I hear you,” I told her.

“I think less of any gnatwit that would live in this sty.”

“Gnatwit, huh?”

“If you’re going to be a villain, at least have some pride. Manors, mansions, towers. Have roads, not slicks of frozen mud.”

“Marquis was like that,” my mother said.

I couldn’t help but involuntarily tense when she engaged the discussion.

“Credit to him,” Swansong said. I could see how drawn her expression was. Walking was hard, even with my supporting arm, and she was in pain.

“He lived here, in this mudpit, so maybe not so much credit,” I said. The tension was worse, because I knew the line we were straddling. Where my mom stood. Where Swansong stood on the topic of villainy. That Damsel was off to the side and how Damsel couldn’t help but pick at weaknesses, especially when that weakness was demonstrated by a reflection of herself. They squabbled and bullied each other in an ongoing effort to ensure they each met their mutual standards, and that was fine until one of them needed a supporting hand rather than a push forward.

Damsel was being very, very good, all considered, but this was a topic loaded with buttons.

“Can we drop it?” I asked. “The topic?”

“You can,” Damsel said. “We lived in a trash-heap, once upon a time. Hiding from the law. Didn’t we, Swan?”

“We did.”

“Marquis moved on to rule a world,” Damsel said.

“We could quibble about the definition of rule,” my mom said. “But I’m biased. I don’t think much of the man.”

“Really.” Damsel sounded genuinely surprised.

“We have a complicated history with him,” I said, my voice more curt than I intended. I’d really wanted this conversation to die, and it wasn’t. A part of me hoped that the people involved would catch the tone or read the signal, or that an abrupt rejoinder to the conversation with no easy follow-up would bring it to an awkward halt.

That part of me was really fucking stupid, because nobody that was participating was good at stopping. Fuck me.

“You don’t have to like him,” Damsel said. “But if you know his power you should fear him, and if you know what he’s accomplished you should respect him.”

“I don’t like him, I don’t respect him, and I don’t fear him,” my mom said. “I’ve wrestled with my feelings about him for a long time and I’ve decided that he’s not worth thinking about. He’s pathetic.”

“Woah,” I said.

“He ended up in a position of power with underlings, money, fine things, respect, power, and fan followings. He’s reached a point that others only dream of.”