“Pausanius?” Alexander repeated, his tone harsh. He’d been cleaning his sword, but he was now all ears, his body rigid with attention. “The nobleman? The man who’s been serving as one of my father’s bodyguards?”
Sera stammered to answer, but nothing coherent came out. Dak took over since he was the one who knew the history the best.
“That’s him,” he said. “I know it can’t be good to hear, but your mom hired that guy to kill King Philip so that you could become the king sooner rather than later. She didn’t want him to kill you, of course, but you showed up and . . . Well, you know how things go sometimes. Bada-boom bada-bing, and you died, too.”
Riq gave him a sharp look. “Seriously? What a way with words you have.”
“I’m just telling him how it is. Or was. Or whatever.” He faced Alexander again, whose face had grown about five shades of red darker. “But then Tilda started jumping around time and changed everything up. We had to come back here and save you, and now that you know what’s going on, you’ll be safe, right?” He hated to think Riq was right, but Dak didn’t feel like a single word popping out of his mouth had made a lick of sense.
Alexander didn’t look well. He stared at the ground, his eyes afire, his face growing even redder. And his chest heaved with breaths.
“Alex?” Aristotle asked. “What’s wrong? We’ve made things right, and there’s still plenty of time to stop your mother from her ill-fated plan. Just let me handle her, okay?”
But Alexander wasn’t listening. He backed away, still not looking anybody in the eye, shaking his head, fuming with anger. Olympias appeared then, with a host of servants and guards to start the clean-up process. When Alexander saw her, he went ballistic.
“How could you?” he screamed, the words ragged as they tore from his throat. “How could you do this thing?” And then he was running toward the stables, not listening to anyone who tried to get him to come back.
Dak looked at his friends, then back at Aristotle. Everyone seemed frozen to the ground, stunned, unsure of what to do. Olympias marched toward them, pulling up in front of the philosopher, furious.
“Why?” she spat at him. “Why are you meddling so much? I know what’s best for my son and his future. Only me! I want you to leave here at once!”
The philosopher was unfazed. “You have to stop this nonsense, Olympias. Let matters follow their own course now.”
“Philip will die!” she yelled, not a trace of her dazzling self left from when Dak had first met her. She shook, and her skin was an unnatural color of rage. “My son must be the hegemon and lead the world to glory!”
Before Aristotle could reply, a horse came leaping from the stables, breaking into a gallop that tore up the grass of the lawn. Alexander was on top, reins in hands, leaning forward.
“Alex!” Aristotle yelled. “What are you doing on Bucephalus?”
Bucephalus, Dak thought. What a weird name for a horse.
The heir to the king didn’t slow, certainly didn’t stop. But Dak heard him answer as animal and rider flew past them.
“I’m going to save the king.”
Dak’s insides melted. That’s how the whole mess happened in the first place. It appeared the Prime Break was still in play after all.
IN THE next few minutes there was a lot of yelling. A lot of arguing. Also a lot of standing around looking at one another with blank faces. Riq watched it all in silence.
Aristotle scolded Olympias. She scolded him right back. Dak and Sera tried to convince a whole host of different people to get on horses and chase Alexander down, force him to come back before he got himself killed just the way the original history played out. No one seemed too keen on that idea. It was like telling a zebra to go talk a pride of lions away from fresh meat.
As for Riq, he was lost on the inside. It had felt so good to lose himself to his anger. Now that it was gone, he felt empty. The truth was that he liked having an enemy to focus on. Tilda had been the source of so much fear and fury and anxiety in his life. And now she was defeated, pathetic, and Riq was left with fears that weren’t so easy to punch or kick or bite.
He rubbed his hands together, wiping away the last droplets of fuel from the Eternity Ring.
Suddenly Sera was standing before him. She touched his elbow and spoke low, out of earshot of Dak. “Riq, what was that all about back there?”
Riq grimaced. “Sorry,” he said. “I guess I overdid it a little.”
Sera shook her head. “Tilda had that coming to her, and worse. I mean before. You were ready to jump right into the fight with twenty heavily armed men.”
“Sera,” he began. Then he paused, searching for the words. “You know this is it for me. I can’t risk going back to the future when we’re done here. The mission —”
“The mission is important,” Sera cut in. “But so are you.” She gave him a look that was somehow friendly and dangerous at the same time. “Ever since 1850, you’ve been way too willing to sacrifice yourself for the mission. You’ve thrown yourself in front of swords, spears, and bombs. It’s got to stop, Riq. Even if you really can’t come back to the future, that doesn’t mean you can’t have a future of your own.”
Riq blinked mutely, unsure what to say to that. Had he really been that careless? Had he been acting like a hero or a lunatic with a death wish?
“You two want to join us?” Dak hollered. “We need to make a decision.”
“Well, you won’t do it in my home,” Olympias announced. She’d recovered some of her earlier hauteur, and once again looked like a princess. “Aristotle, you’ve done great things for my family, but you were also paid in kind. You’re no longer welcome here.” She raised a hand when he started to protest. “No. Please. Enough quarrels for one day. Please respect my wishes and leave. Immediately.”
“Respect?” Dak blurted. “You wanna talk about respect? Not only are you planning on killing the king, you know now that it could very well mean your kid dies, too. And you’re not going to do anything? What kind of person are you anyway?”
Sera touched Dak on the arm, her eyes down. Riq felt for him, but he also knew there was nothing they could do to change things through Olympias.
“Hey,” Riq said to his friend. “Dude. Just let it go. Come on.”
“Yes,” Aristotle agreed. “It’s plain that dealing with this woman can no longer lead to solutions. Dak. Sera. Riq. Let’s go and gather our thoughts in a place more welcoming than here.”