Sons of Zeus (The Warrior Trilogy #1)

“Yes,” Aristotle added, seeming almost hopeful as he focused on Riq. “You appear older than these two. Perhaps we’ve saved the best for last.”


Dak felt a prick of jealousy, and expected a smug look from Riq. When the older boy didn’t throw it at him, Dak decided once and for all that their issues were officially a thing of the past. At least for a few minutes.

“Listen,” Riq began as he leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees. “This is really hard for all of us, I think. It makes me feel better that you seem so worried about time and messing it up. It shows you get it. But we’re here to tell you that things are already messed up. With . . .” He faltered for a second, looking to Dak and Sera for support, then surging ahead. “With your permission, we want to tell you about the future. Because we need your help to make things right. You’ll just . . . have to trust us that it’s okay to talk about. But we won’t until you say it’s okay.”

A long moment of silence passed, Aristotle passing his eyes from Riq to Sera to Dak, then starting all over again. And again. Dak could almost see the wheels spinning behind those eyes.

“I’ve made my decision,” the man finally said. “I want you to tell me everything you came here to say. And then we shall see where we are and what may come.”

Sera and Riq both looked at Dak. It was his moment to shine.





AND SO Dak went at it, spilling everything in a torrent of information that barely left him time to take proper breaths. About the Great Breaks, Aristotle’s belief that they needed to be corrected, his belief in eventual time travel, how the Hystorians came into existence because of his vision, the SQ . . . everything. After he’d told the story of the far future and how he and his friends had been sent back in time to set things right — and to find his missing parents — he quickly went through the list of the Breaks they’d conquered so far. And then it was time for the kicker. The final task.

“In three weeks,” Dak said, “an assassin is going to kill King Philip and his son Alexander the Third.” The look of complete horror that transformed Aristotle’s face made Dak stop before he went any further.

The man appeared as if he might cry. His lip trembled, his eyes grew dark, his entire body seemed to shrink.

“This can’t be,” he said, his steady, regal voice cracking for the first time. “I taught the boy, practically raised him through the better part — the most important part — of his youth. He’s . . . destined to do great, great things. Change the world. I know it, in my heart, without any doubt. This . . . this can’t be.”

Dak had expected the philosopher to be troubled, but the reaction went far beyond his wildest expectations. Aristotle looked like a man who’d just been told his son had been killed. Which, evidently, was for all intents and purposes what had happened. The man was visibly traumatized.

But then he composed himself, the stately leader and teacher regaining his footing. He stood tall, brushed at his robes, then sat back down again, ramrod straight, looking as if he’d never been bothered at all. Dak’s admiration grew.

“Your words ring true,” Aristotle said, “and if this truly did . . . or does . . . happen, then my reaction is exactly as your Hystorians have taught you. Such a thing would devastate me, indeed, and I’d do anything to reverse that course.” He paused. “We’ve had trouble lately. Strangers appearing, wreaking havoc. Strangers who are nothing like Greeks or Macedonians at all.”

Dak and his friends exchanged looks. The dude at the fountain. Tilda was up to something, no doubt.

“It’s why my guards have been so vigilant,” Aristotle continued. “So vicious. I ordered them to be so. I wasn’t about to let anything get in the way of the League and our plans for this great nation and the world.” His eyes found Sera’s. “Can you show me the device? Your words do ring true, but it would be foolish for me not to have the proof of it.”

Sera was digging through her satchel before he’d even finished his last sentence. Dak found he couldn’t wait for the philosopher to hold a piece of the future, right there in his hands.

The Ring was dented but shiny, and it glowed with an inner light. Dak knew there could be no doubt such a thing came from a distant future. Aristotle held the device, turning it over and over, studying it with a look of pure wonder.