“Sit down, shut up, and let Mitso bandage your stupid bleeding head!”

It was possible that Raeca was running out of patience, but in her defense, Brendis had once again showed up on her doorstep, terribly injured.

In a reversal of their usual situation, Haroun leaned heavily on him, conscious, but bleeding badly from what looked like a fairly significant blow to the head.

And now the impossible mage was refusing to sit and worse, thought he could safely teleport when he was too dizzy to even stand.

At least Brendis was being good, but that was mostly because Raeca was in the process of sewing up what was left of his leg.

Between his own natural healing, and her magic, he would recover, but anyone else would have lost the limb.

“‘Roun, you might as well listen to her,” Brendis said, drugged heavily enough to kill the worst of the pain, and somewhat loopy because of it. “It’s not like you don’t trust her, yeah?”

“I am fine,” Haroun protested, and tried to stand. He keeled sideways, and only Mitso’s quick hands kept him from disaster. “I— I will be…”

Raeca was going to slap him.

Damn it all, she was going to have to heal him first and then slap him.

“Mitso, trade places with me,” she decided. Brendis was almost done, and Mitso was perfectly capable of sewing him back together while she dealt with the Dark Sorcerer’s bleeding head. “And you…”

Mitso was chuckling under his breath as he took over for her. Raeca passed the needle and suture thread into his care and rounded on Haroun.

There was something very satisfying about how wide his eyes got as she advanced on him with intent.

His pupils were not the same size, but he did sit, which was good, because he was too tall for her otherwise.

“I do not care who you are,” she hissed as she washed her hands, grabbed a clean cloth and water, and got to work cleaning the blood off his face. “I do not care that you are the Dark Sorcerer, or that you are three thousand years old, or that you are powerful enough to vaporize my whole house if you get annoyed enough.”

Haroun froze under her hands and Raeca belatedly remembered that he didn’t actually know that she knew who he really was.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

She was also too annoyed with him to much care.

“If you are under my roof,” she continued, and ignored the way both Mitso and Brendis were laughing at them. “And you are injured, I expect you to sit still and let me help you. Do you understand me?”

“You look just like my daughter when you’re angry.”

The reply was not what she was expecting and brought Raeca up short, although she didn’t stop washing the blood off his face. “What?”

“My daughter,” Haroun repeated with a faint smile. “From my twenty-second life. You look just like her when you holler.”

“…You are more concussed than I thought,” Raeca told him flatly, and pressed a hand to his head. Under his teachings, she was becoming quite a good healer, and his concussion faded under her touch. “Better?”

“Much better,” he admitted, and smiled in a way that made him look very young and a little sad. “But you do look like my daughter when you are irritated with me. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. You’re out of my line, after all.”

Raeca blinked, taken completely off guard by the off handed comment. “…what?”

“You are one of my descendants,” Haroun said, and tilted his head thoughtfully. “Admittedly, it has been nearly two thousand years, give or take, but I keep track of my line. There are fewer of my blood than you might think.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Raeca stuttered, and looked over at Mitso. Her old mentor was calm and collected as ever, and suspiciously unsurprised. “You knew?”

“I guessed,” Mitso admitted with a shrug. “Better not to come out and say it. Tends to bring attention we’d rather not have.”

His strict gaze landed on Haroun, who nodded solemnly. Brendis watched them all, curious and interested.

“I didn’t know,” he defended himself when Raeca turned her annoyed gaze on him. He raised a hand defensively. “And neither does Calliope!”

“You keep it that way,” Haroun pointed at him, deadly intent in his voice. “The White Queen is as lethal as a scorpion in the bed, and jealous to boot. She barely tolerates Raeca’s existence in your life as it is.”

“’Roun, she isn’t like that,” Brendis protested, and tried to sit up. Surprises and shock aside, Raeca wasn’t about to allow that, and pushed him back down. “She wouldn’t—”

“She would, and has many times over,” Haroun cut him off shortly. “It certainly isn’t me killing off any woman you happen to fall in love with. I think a roll in the hay would do you some good.”

“I would like not to be killed by anyone,” Raeca decided before Brendis could answer. The Dark Sorcerer’s many-times-great granddaughter. Who would have thought? Not her. “And I think it is long, very long, past time for you two to work things out between you.”

“He murdered me!” Brendis protested and tried to sit up again. Raeca stared him back down. He might be bandaged, but he was a long way from whole. “Repeatedly!”

“You gave me a knife in the throat for my coming-of-age,” Haroun grumbled mutinously and went to rise. Raeca preemptively raised a brow, daring him to cross her, and he sank back into his chair. “I was angry!”

“You murdered Calliope too!”

“She’s done worse to me!”

They glared at each other and Raeca sighed. She caught Mitso’s eye and smiled faintly. “Thank you, I can handle them from here.”

“I believe you can,” he said with a very amused twinkle in his eye. “Good luck.”

“Thank you,” she said, and held the door for him as the two men continued arguing. “I think I may need it to untangle this mess.”