'But I am not with child yet,' Bree said.
'We are still preparing you,' the witch said. 'Just as we are preparing the chosen father. He is very handsome, with enough Amadis blood. Soon, you will meet.'
The air around us wavered, and the scene wasn't much different, but time had passed. We were still in the hut, but Bree no longer sat on the stool. Her hand pressed against her swollen belly as she waddled toward the bed.
'I am certain it's time,' she said, and her face tightened in pain.
'One more dose, then,' the witch said, handing Bree a mug.
The scene changed again, and we were now outside what appeared to be the same hut. Bree chased after a small, tow-headed child, both of them laughing. When he turned to look at her, my breath caught. Dorian, I thought at first. But of course not … it was Tristan as a little tot, no more than two or three years old. She scooped him up in her arms and held him closely to her in a loving embrace. Then she gave him the stone, showing her viewpoint of what Tristan had shown me earlier, when my telepathy still worked.
The air wavered again, and Tristan now looked more like six or seven years old, again running around outside the hut. Bree apparently had been watching him from her perch on a fallen tree trunk, but now she glanced around, alarm all over her face. She stood, placed one hand over her enlarged belly and called out, panic lilting her voice. But Tristan never made it back to her. Two men–vampires–shot out of the nearby woods, grabbed Tristan and blurred away, too fast for a pregnant Bree to catch. She fell to the ground sobbing and screaming, 'My son! My son!'
Our surroundings changed, and we appeared to be in modern day London. Bree, looking much older and more like the witch we'd found in the Everglades, sat at a small table at a sidewalk cafe. Based on the fashion people wore, I guessed the time to be the late 1970s or early '80s. When Mom joined her at the table, I knew I guessed right. They spoke briefly until the waiter brought them two mugs of tea. Bree dumped herbs into Mom's mug–the same herbs Blossom had given me last week.
'This will keep me strong so I can handle Lucas?' Mom asked, lifting the cup to her face. She grimaced as the steam rose into her nostrils.
'Yes. It is often used to foster pregnancy, but also fortifies the body.'
'Well, I don't have to worry about getting pregnant,' Mom said. Then she tipped the cup to her lips and downed the tea. Her eyes watered as she swallowed, which was probably how she missed the golden glint in Bree's eyes–a gleam that said, 'let's hope you're wrong.'
The scene disappeared, and it took me a moment to realize we were in the Council Hall. The room lightened and everyone looked around, blinking, somewhat disoriented, reminding me of when they showed films in school and the students fell asleep until the teacher flipped the light back on.
'How do we know it's not faerie tricks?' Robin finally asked.
'Of course it's faerie tricks!' Martin bellowed.
'It's not,' Tristan said. He stared at Bree, who stood between Lisa and Jessica, but not with hard, glaring eyes sparking with anger. Grief filled them now. His voice came low, full of shock. 'I remember now. I remember them taking me and brainwashing me. And … I remember Bree … my mother.'
His voice cracked on the last word. I wrapped my arms around him and held him tightly.
'How do you explain the girl?' Martin asked, his voice heavy with a challenge.
'Yes,' Julia said. 'You looked to be pregnant again when they took Tristan, but that was two-hundred-sixty- years ago.'
Bree nodded. 'Yes, it was. Lilith is only six years younger than Tristan. The Daemoni were pleased with Tristan when he was young, and they wanted more just like him. However, they didn't get the same results with Lilith. She came into her powers like a boy does, but at seven years old. She stopped aging then, too. She is powerful, but they couldn't train her. She didn't have the same Angels' blessing as Tristan did. She doesn't have enough goodness in her, making her worse than even a vampire when it comes to self-control.' Bree said this last statement with hard eyes on Julia and Armand.
'One of their experiments gone wrong,' I muttered.
'Yes,' Bree said. 'And all of their experiments will continue to go wrong. Tristan is only right because of the Angels' involvement.'
'So they allowed you to raise the girl?' Martin asked, his tone still accusing.
'Not exactly. They left her to me, but ordered me to kill her. I should have done it and not let her live so long in the body of a child. I understand it wasn't fair, and sometimes she hates me for it. But I couldn't kill her. She's my daughter. For over two hundred years, we lived our outcast lives together. And then we were found, captured and planted in the Everglades, waiting for Tristan and Alexis to find us.'
Bree's eyes rested on Martin, and she went silent. He glared at her with measuring eyes.
'It's all faerie antics,' Armand said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. 'Tristan said it himself.'
'Before she proved herself,' Chandra said. 'What more do you want? Tristan is obviously innocent.'
'Tristan hasn't betrayed us,' someone said from the audience.
'He's not the traitor,' Minh agreed. 'So who is? Who planted you?'
Adolph cut off any answer Bree might have given.
'You hold belief in her? A faerie?' he demanded as he and Armand looked down the table at Minh, their expressions incredulous.
'I do!' The gravelly voice came from the crowd, and this time I felt sure it belonged to Ferrer. Many chants of support followed his.
'Let's get this over with!' someone said. 'We need to be out there fighting!'
'Yeah! Call this meeting to a close!' someone else yelled.
'The Normans need us!'
'Our children need us!'
But the same people up on that dais who had voted against Tristan earlier shook their heads, their faces set with determination. They weren't going to change their votes. Everything Bree had said and Tristan confirmed meant nothing to them. They didn't care about any evidence. They didn't care about witnesses or what anyone else believed. Their minds had been made up before the trial even started. They only had one goal: oust Tristan from the Amadis.
But I did see the evidence: This was all the traitor's doing. She controlled them.
Much of the crowd knew the truth, as well. Their cries for righteousness slammed into my chest with the force of a semi. These are my people. With no coronation ceremony, I had never sworn myself to anyone except Tristan, but my heart had been pledged to God, to the Angels and to the Amadis. This Amadis. Not the council, but the people–the people here, the Amadis in the villages, colonies, packs, covens and dens around the world, as well as the Normans. They deserved my allegiance and my devotion. If I gave up and walked away, I'd be no better than the council, than the traitor trying to destroy us all. These were the people I must sacrifice for. The people I served. My people.
But I had no idea what to do to help them. How to protect them against the traitor.
'You serve the least of these, you serve Me, and I will return it to you sevenfold,' a voice whispered in my mind. I had no idea where it came from. A memory from Mom's teachings of the bible? Or, perhaps, God Himself had spoken. It wouldn't have been the first time He'd helped me when I needed Him. Then Tristan's words echoed in my mind, 'You have the advantage.'
Dear God, I thought, I know I haven't appreciated the gift You've given me, but I could really use it back. All of it. The way I'm supposed to use it. The way You intended.
If He answered, I didn't hear.
'Your vote stands?' Martin asked the council. Everyone nodded. Martin blew out a breath and his words came out heavy. 'The council has decided. I must go with their decision.'
What?
'No!' I shouted, striding to face the center of the table, between Tristan and the council. I stared at Martin– Owen's dad, Char's husband, our friend–with disbelief. 'How can you do this?'
'Sit down, Alexis,' Martin said, his voice full of warning.
'Not until you explain yourself. All of you! These people–' I swept my arm out at the crowd. '–they trust you
