"Well there's...there's two parts of it. The first one is, is the thing where people should have nice things? Like--it's bad if your mom dies, and it'd be bad if my moms died, and it'd be bad if, if, you were at the thing for Ascension Day in Arodus, right?" 

It takes him a minute to remember. "Yeah?" 

"You remember that kid who kicked three kids littler'n us and then spilled a whole thing of wine all over himself?" 

"...Yeah?" The wine thing had been hilarious. 

"Well it'd be bad if his mom was dead, too, it's not just 'cause we're better than him that we don't deserve dead moms, nobody does." 

"You think we're better than him?" 

"Would you kick someone that size?" 

"Maybe a halfling or gnome our age, if I had a reason to. Oh, or quasits are supposed to be really small, I'd kick a quasit." 

Snort. "You know what I mean." 

"Okay, so what's the other part of deserving things?" 

"The other part is consequences! Like--if someone digs a big hole in the ground, and someone is going to fall into it, then the person who dug it deserves to be the one who falls in, because it's his fault there's a hole there. Or if you decide to be a demon cultist you deserve to get killed by crusaders. Like, it would be better if nobody fell in the hole or the cultist realized he was being dumb and bad and quit, 'cause of point one, but like, if someone is going to fall in the hole or meet Prelate Hulrun, it should be the person who actually did the thing." 

Snort. "Not a fan of the Prelate?" Daeran doesn't know that much about the man, but what little he does know suggests that this is a positive quality of Lucette's. 

Lucette wrinkles her nose. "One time Mama accidentally left out some documents about the Third Crusade long enough that I could find and read them." 

"...What happened?" 

"Hulrun burned a lot of people to death for being demon cultists, and a lot of them weren't demon cultists, plus even if he had to kill people he should've done it in a way that hurts less than burning." 

"...Huh." 

Daeran feels slightly unsettled by this answer. He had been expecting something more--dry, boring, paladin-y, something that was just a natural consequence of wanting to fight demons instead of having dessert every night, not something--like that. 

"So he's bad and demon cultists who are going to get killed should throw themselves on Mummy's claws instead but if he's going to burn someone, it's still better if the person is actually a demon cultist."

"I guess."

Daeran contemplates this.

"My cousin is still the worst." 

"I'm sorry that happened." Hug hug hug. 

Daeran isn't sure what to say to that. Isn't sure that it's the kind of thing that needs a response. 

But one thing that sticks with him is...

He isn't alone. Not totally. His cousin doesn't care about him, but--Lucette does. It's not the same thing, it doesn't make it okay, Lucette is for one thing not a grownup capable of taking care of him, but--

He is not without anyone in the world who actually cares about him. Which is not nothing. 

(And if Lucette is definitely not going to be able to deal with thehorriblething, well, it was a long shot that even the Queen would be able to.)

Lucette is thirteen, when the Fourth Crusade ends. 

It's...sort of a victory. It's certainly more of a victory than the end of the Third Crusade was. But everyone* is so worn down, so exhausted, that it...doesn't feel entirely like a victory. Certainly there are no parades or grand speeches--not in Kenabres, anyway, and it's...safe to live there, now. 

There is something distinctly uncomfortable, about living with your parents full-time, for the first time, at the age of thirteen. There is a part of Lucette that resents it, but--the resentment isn't aimed anywhere. Where would she put it? Her parents didn't choose when the Crusade would end. She could say that at this point they may as well just not bother, but--she can't, quite; she does love them, and she knows they wouldn't have put this off so long if they had any other choice. It's not just a theoretical knowledge; Mama tries to hide the hurt, the flinch reaction every time Lucette's ever casually referred to how much time they spend apart--if she told Mama not to bother being around for her teenagerhood more than she had been when she was a child, she thinks it would just about break Mama, and that would be--worse. Than lots of things, not just the very slight smothered feeling she has right now. 

She could try to point that resentment at the demons, but it just gets...lost, in all the other things there are to be angry with them about. At least she still has them. At least they're both strong enough to have made it through all their battles physically unscathed, or rather anti-scathed--repaired, where uninjured wasn't an option. It isn't only her best friend's grief that she has to compare to; Kenabres has a lot of veterans, and a lot of people who have lost someone who'd count as a veteran if they'd come back, which they never did. 

*who is still alive

Daeran is sixteen, and Lucette fourteen, when he starts openly consorting with prostitutes. 

It's not as if he's ever been all that interested in keeping his public image clean; not since returning to living in Kenabres most of the time, anyway. What he does when outside the city is less available to the gossip mills. But he's been butting heads with Hulrun ever since meeting the man, and there are any number of deeply disreputable ways to piss off the Prelate. 

This one, however, is new. To him, anyway; it's often called the oldest profession in the world. 

And one afternoon, staggering home after a night of debauchery, he finds Lucette in his bed. 

This isn't particularly suggestive; she's been showing up in his room, here or in Nerosyan, since she was nine. She's fully clothed, only her shoes kicked off, and absorbed in a book until the door creaks open to let him in. 

She looks up at him calmly. 

...Well. 

This was always going to happen eventually. 

He's not actually sure how she's going to respond. For all their years of friendship, there are ways she could react that would be--not good. Definitely on her part and not his. 

"Is it interesting?"