“You’re right,” Sera said. “It’s not really our place. We’ve done enough damage making sure she’s stuck here forever. Let’s go back and check on Alexander.”
Riq muttered something that Dak couldn’t hear, then stormed off through the trees in the direction of the lawn. Sera followed, and Dak had taken one step when he heard Tilda say something from behind him.
“You’ll regret this,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Oh, please,” he responded. “Leave it alone, Tilda. Aren’t things bad enough?”
She didn’t respond. She only turned from him and walked away.
Quite the sight awaited Dak when he caught up with Sera and Riq. Every last soldier that had come at Tilda’s command to kill Alexander either lay on the ground with nasty wounds, some of them dead and unmoving, or knelt on the ground, their hands tied behind their backs. Swords and daggers and clubs, smeared with blood, littered the green canvas of the lawn.
Alexander stood by Aristotle, surveying the scene, while Olympias was gone, maybe to call help to clean up, arrest people, whatever needed to be done.
The philosopher seemed quite relieved to see that Dak and the others had survived their own little mission — the relief on the man’s face made Dak feel happy from top to bottom.
“Do you think we’ve done it?” Aristotle asked them after congratulations and explanations were done. “Have we saved Alexander, prevented the Prime Break you told me about?”
Dak was at a loss for words. The man seemed to think they had all the answers, and he guessed it made sense since they were from the future and all. But he was the dude who started the Hystorians. Deep down, Dak was hoping the guy would tell them “You’ve done it! All is right in the world! The Cataclysm is no more! Let’s party!” Instead he was asking them for reassurance.
After an awkward silence, Sera finally answered. “Honestly, I don’t think we know. Things haven’t happened like we expected. I mean, we were supposed to save Alexander from a guy named Pausanius, out in the army camps of his dad.”
“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.