chapter 7:2

7.2 | A World Soaked in Blood

Dedicated to loazel

Although Markos had told her what to expect, Nika

didn't feel prepared as she waited for her interview

with the Ministry.

To quell her nerves, she gazed through the wall of

glass separating the antechamber from the outside

world. It was a murky night, blanketed with low

clouds and light April showers.

Stretching out before her were the glittering lights

of a mountain town. At the north end, the hilltop

manors of Lirovin Square rose like Mount

Olympus. Nika stood only a few blocks down the

way, inside the Hall of Valentine-which had been

named after a former Daemonstri king and now

served as the formal courts and offices of the

Ministry. In the southern sector, the square fortress

of the Vigil's base dominated the scene.

This was headquarters, a nameless, unmarked

location on a map, the capital of North America's

Daemonstri populations. It was home to the

Ministers, the High Keeper, and a few thousand

Serafi and Nefili citizens, and all of it was hidden

by human governments in accordance witha

centuries-old treaty.

"Nika."

Jade's voice echoed through the marble foyer,

ripping her away from the window. She found her

roommate standing in the usual grungy attire, her

tan skin looking a little pale.

"It's your turn."

Nika glanced toward Elliot, who sat on a bench

near the grand doors to the assembly chamber.

Both he and Jade had been questioned by the

Ministry already.

"How was it?" Nika asked.

Jade shrugged. "So easy I was yawning my way

through it."

Nika rolled her eyes. Jade had been fidgeting like

an addict before she'd been summoned.

"Wish me luck," she said, approaching the doors.

"Wish me luck," she said, approaching the doors.

"I don't believe in luck."

It didn't matter if she had. No amount of good

fortune would bring ease to this interview.

Nika entered, instinctively craning her head to

admire enormous, vaulted ceilings with wooden

beams that streaked like dark stars across a white

sky. The Hall of Valentine was long and narrow,

with towering heights and glass windows.

Moonlight peaked through the clouds and

illuminated every shaded corner of the room.

Massive stone pillars lined the walls, curving along

the shape of the roof, and a glass chandelier

dangled from above, giving off a warm, orange

light that clashed with the silvery glow of the

moon.

As Nika's legs carried her forward, it felt like

swimming through the throat of a giant fish.

The witness chair was positioned in a pit-like

section at the center, surrounded by a dais with

thirteen imperial seats-six on the left, six on the

right, and one at the head. Each was occupied by a

Serafi member of the Daemonstri's governing

body.

On her left sat the purists, Elliot's father among

them, and on her right sat the equalist Ministers,

including Nika's own father.

The purist faction believed in the supreme rule of

Serafi over all populations, and advocated the

blood status ideals that had marked Nika as a

blight to society. They despised the idea of inter-

racial breeding, and as the daughter of a Serafi

father and Nefili mother, she was the opposite of

what they deemed was pure.

Her father's side, however-known as the equalist

faction-advocated mixing the races, both in

private and in public. Whether it be government,

security, marriage, and so on.

Markos Dimitrovich was less vocal than most

equalists, though. Sometimes, he even sided with

the purist cause. Nika had never understood why.

The only non-Ministers present were Nika herself

and a small army of keepers. Some were stationed

around the perimeter, others in balconies

overhead.

High Keeper Kovac was placed at a fold-up table in

front of the Prime Minister, and the sight made

Nika's blood turn cold. While Ministers bathed in

superiority on embroidered thrones, a Vigil leader

was reduced to cheap plastic and metal. Nika

shouldn't have been surprised. The Vigil was

constantly being undermined and unappreciated

by the Ministry.

When she took a seat, Nika felt the Ministers' eyes

hot upon her. Eyes flashing with spite, malice, and

bigotry. She cast a dire gaze to her father, but

Markos paid no attention. Instead, he whispered

into the ear of a fellow equalist, and when he

leaned back in his chair, Nika pleaded with all

higher powers that he'd help her through the

following moments. But his face was emotionless,

and after a half-second of eye contact, he looked

away.

Nika then found herself fixating on the balconies.

Bracing the railing in the northeast corner was

Romanovich, looking gargantuan even from far

away. She remembered their brief conversation

earlier tonight, how he'd offered to conceal the fact

that she'd been carrying a gun.

He sensed her attention and slowly nodded, as if to

encourage her. It didn't help as much as Nikawould have liked.

When she returned her focus to the platform,

Prime Minister Rostova stood up. She was a witch

of a woman, shrewd and bitter in both mind and

body. Small eyes and puckering, thin lips, white

hair that had been yanked back into a brutally

tight bun near the nape of her neck.

"If you don't mind, Miss Dimitrovich," said the

crone, her words laced with a Romanian accent,

"I'm going to interview you myself."

And so the world's most infamous halfblood

prepared to be devoured.