Sons of Zeus (The Warrior Trilogy #1)

Python’s eyes brimmed with tears. “Your former student Alexander. Alexander the Third. Son of our great hegemon —”

“Yes, I know who he is!” the philosopher snapped. “Is he in danger?”

Python swallowed and his eyes fell to the floor. “He’s been murdered. Killed by a woman with hair of flames and lips of tar.”





SERA HAD never felt so stunned by someone’s words. She sat in her chair and stared at the man named Python, wondering if she had heard him correctly. More like, hoping she hadn’t. They were supposed to have three weeks to prevent the Prime Break from happening. And the woman with hair of flames . . .

“You’re certain of this?” Aristotle asked his servant, after what felt like a very long silence.

Python nodded, grim-faced. He obviously didn’t enjoy being the one to relay such an awful message.

Aristotle slumped back onto his stool, every ounce of blood having drained from his face. Even his beard seemed to sag and wilt, along with the rest of his countenance. “How certain, Python? I must know.”

“They have his body, my master. There can be no doubt.”

“Then leave us.”

Sera expected the man to be thrilled to get out of there, but, impossibly, he looked even sadder. “Yes, teacher. Please let me know if there is anything I can do.” Python bowed and left, closing the door as he went.

“He’s been so good to me,” Aristotle whispered, staring at the stone of the balcony floor. “Been with me for so many years. I should treat him with more kindness.”

It seemed like an odd thing to say, but Sera felt a little disoriented herself. She knew they had a billion things to talk about now, but she couldn’t find one word to utter. In fact, no one spoke for a good long while.

“What’re we going to do?” Riq finally asked, a simple enough question. The answer, not so much.

“Need I ask the obvious?” Aristotle responded. “You came here, told me of an elaborate future wrought with difficulty, and showed me a device that my own eyes are wise enough to tell me is not a ruse. I believe that you three are from another time and place. And yet, you sat there and told me the details of a murder that was to happen three weeks from now. You’ve thrown my mind into a cloud of doubt and mistrust, I must say.” He looked apologetic as he said it, as if he didn’t want to disappoint them. But Sera knew he had every right to think them a bunch of liars now. For all he knew, they were in league with Alexander’s murderer.

“It’s Tilda,” Dak said. Sera and Riq had been thinking it — what else could they think — but Dak was the first to throw it out there. “We all know it. She came back and took care of business herself before we could even have a chance to fix it. I swear I’m gonna rip every red hair off that woman’s head next time I see her.”

“That’ll teach her,” Riq muttered under his breath.

“Tell me of this Tilda,” Aristotle said. “Tell me everything.”

For once, Dak didn’t seem too eager to spew any information from his over-clogged head, but he did so anyway.

“Tilda is also a time traveler,” he said. “But she’s with the SQ — the bad guys. She wants the Breaks to happen, because each and every one leads to a future where she’s rich and powerful, never mind the consequences. Alexander’s death is the event that leads to the creation of the SQ. She made sure it happened before any of us would expect it. She beat us at our own game!”

“And what does that mean for us?” Aristotle asked.

Sera answered, unable to prevent her mind from picturing the Remnants of her parents, and thinking how the chance of ever seeing them again — of ever getting to know them — might have just been squandered.

“It means despite our best efforts, the fabric of time and reality has just been . . . ripped, torn. Broken. Tilda has set off a chain reaction that will one day be too much for physics to handle anymore.”

“And then comes the Cataclysm,” Dak added.

“Yep,” Sera agreed sadly. “The end of the world.”

Aristotle was studying them intently as they spoke. “But you were able to fix these other Breaks, correct?”

Sera nodded.

“Then maybe having just one go wrong won’t be too much. Maybe . . . Oh, what am I saying. Right now my heart doesn’t care a bit about all of that. I’ve lost one of the most precious people I’ve ever known.”

And then, shocking everyone, Aristotle — the great and majestic philosopher, master of ethics, teacher, scientist, poet — broke down and started bawling, chest hitching with sobs, tears streaming down his face into that famous beard.