Lucian

CHAPTER TWO

About half of the human population would never see a vampire in their entire life or even cross over into Cassovia. Those lucky individuals were required to have a certain amount of their blood taken about once a month, and as long as they complied with that demand, they got to live in relative safety. The other half was destined to die a slow, torturous death at their merciless enemy's hands. It was a direct consequence of the law that was designed to keep the peace between human and vampire lands.

Humans were allowed to have some semblance of normalcy, for as long as they paid their dues to the ruling Saybrien dynasty. Every year, there was a collection of new blood slaves for the highest vampire caste that fed straight from a source. They simply called it The Selection.

A commission of human emissaries would make their rounds through human villages in search of fresh blood for their vampire masters. The calvary of this horrific tradition had but one saving grace. It only applied to people between the ages of nineteen and thirty. At least, that was how it used to be. For some reason, this year the committee chose to lower the bar down to eighteen, which was our current age. This meant we would face the selection a whole year earlier than expected.

Luckily for my stepparents, the committee could claim only one of us this time. After a couple of years, they would return for their second victim, and then it would stop since the law didn't allow them to take more than two slaves from each household. In Sarah and Henry's case, it meant the empire would allow them to keep one child to carry on their genes. It was of some consolation since the people who didn't have more children weren't shown that kind of mercy. Their son or daughter would be taken from them as soon as they were eligible for the selection.

Nevertheless, that rule didn't make the situation much better. It was the single and most important motivator for people to have more children. They played right into Saybriens' hands, providing them with all the slaves they wanted while at the same time ensuring the survival of the human race. To put it crudely, we placed life into this world just so it could be taken away because one thing was indisputable. Those who were chosen faced certain death. Nobody ever returned, unless it was in a body bag...

Sarah knew it as well. That must have been the reason she sobbed for hours on end as though her entire world crumbled around her. Though she eventually calmed down, she remained hidden in the bedroom for the rest of the day. Henry reappeared after a while and explained she was unwell. His voice was filled with an undecipherable emotion, and he just stood there, staring at me as I cleared the table and went on to prepare dinner together with Rachel. When I caught his gaze, it was filled with more animosity than usual, but he didn't say a word. Nobody spoke for that matter. Even when we ate what would be our last dinner together, we existed in this heavy, tension-filled silence, our thoughts occupied with the horror we would have to face the next day.

I didn't sleep that night for the fear of having another nightmare. Instead, I lay awake and stared at the ceiling, listening to Rachel's silent cries that broke my heart. Jacob consoled her while the sounds of their parents' arguing echoed around the house in the dead hours of the night.

"Henry, stop it! You know as well as I do nothing will ever be all right again!" Sarah's desperate voice spread through the darkness. "I can't. I just can't do it! I would rather kill them myself than hand them over to those monsters."

"Sweetheart, I know it's hard, but there is something we can do," he said, then lowered his voice to the point his words were unintelligible.

After a few quiet moments, Sarah yelled in dismay. "I won't do it. Do you hear me? I won't do it! I don't regret a single thing so stop holding it over my head!"

"Sarah, get a grip on yourself!" Henry became agitated, and then said the words that made my breath freeze in my throat. "Let them have her. She's not our daughter."