led the council, with Rina, Mom, and I at the end of their procession, down a long corridor, toward the rear of the Council Hall, not to the front of the grand meeting room as we’d gone before. A thick and heavy silence weighed down on us, as if trying to press us into the stone floor.
I couldn’t make sense of what happened—the council trying to oust Rina and Rina giving up her authority voluntarily. I half-expected lightning bolts to shoot from the sky and strike down the traitor and her sheep for taking this too far, beyond their boundaries. Surely the Angels didn’t want this. How could they even allow it? My understanding of the Amadis, the council, and the Angels’ role and rule in our society had flipped over, whirled, and twisted into a senseless pretzel. How could I be devoted to these . . . these politicians . . . whose values and beliefs obviously meant so little? They didn’t seem so loyal to the Angels now. Why should I be loyal to them? How could Tristan be so adamant about it?
My heart felt nothing but a burning rage toward them now. If it weren’t Tristan on trial, I would have left with Dorian right then, not caring what they did anymore. I wanted to forget my position and leave the Amadis forever. They weren’t worthy of my allegiance.
But it was Tristan on trial.
We stopped in the dark hall as Martin, up ahead, paused in a doorway. The room beyond, which had been buzzing with voices, fell silent. As we filed into the back of the grand meeting hall, I thought at first we had come to a completely different room. But no, it was the same one; only the arrangements had changed.
The King Arthur’s table had been removed and the throne-like chairs moved to this end, placed behind a long table on a raised platform. Rows of chairs, a center aisle splitting them in two, faced the dais, all of them filled—well, they would be, once everyone sat down. More Amadis lined the walls, and the crowd seemed to flow out the doors. The warrior angel statues—one above the doors and one above the head table—looked fiercer than ever, their anger directed at us.
The council members paraded behind the table to their chairs. Solomon, who preceded Rina, took the last one at the table, meaning Rina, Mom, and I would not be joining the council at the head of the room. Instead, Martin motioned toward a line of three chairs against the wall, perpendicular to the dais, between the council and the crowd, as if we were the jury. But I already knew we’d have no say in the outcome of this trial.
Once Rina, Mom, and I sat down, everyone else sat, too, showing at least some kind of respect. Then Armand raised his hand and flicked it, as if hailing a waiter. Everyone turned toward the doors, and I did, too. I held back a gasp as two guards sandwiched Tristan between them and brought him down the center aisle. The urge to run to him, to throw my arms around him, to blast the guards and the council with electricity and then run away with him, nearly overcame me. But the look on Tristan’s face stopped that thought.
He barely glanced at me, his eyes hard, and quickly looked away. His face remained stony and indifferent as the guards led him to stand before the council. I love you, I thought as he took his place. But he didn’t respond. Of course, he couldn’t hear me. No one could.
Nothing bound him, at least, nothing I could see, but his hands were gloved in some strange, metallic material that must have blocked his powers. But the extra precautions weren’t necessary. Although he stood straight and confident and kept all emotions from his face, he would never fight them. Like Rina, he would submit to them. As a true Amadis should do, he’d go along with whatever they decided. He really had given up.
The anger within me flared hotter. This is not my Tristan! Who is doing this? What have they done to him? They were breaking the ultimate warrior. Shattering his spirit. And for that, I hated every single council member up there except Char and Martin.
Martin stared at Tristan for a long time as the crowd settled and quieted, then he frowned, as if he didn’t want to proceed.
“Tristan Knight,” he said, “you are brought