I sighed, longing to move past it, but one look at her face made it clear that was not going to happen unless we finished this first. “I didn’t say anything.” My gaze held fast to hers so she’d know it was true. “Dacian told him there was no one around by that name, that he had the wrong party, and should be on his way.”
“And he did? He left?” Messalina asked, clearly on edge.
“He’s gone. Not to worry, I doubt he’ll return.”
I looked away, bit down on my lip, struggling with the urge to take it all back, confess to my fib, tell her that he actually said just the opposite, leaving me to believe that he would return at some point. The war between the truth and the lie waging within me, until I saw the way her face softened, her shoulders slumped and relaxed, as she plucked an especially ripe-looking date from the tray and tossed it my way.
I plopped the squishy, puckered fruit into my mouth, closing my eyes to better savor its wonderful sweetness. The stranger’s image blooming in my mind, unable to make sense of why I lied to my friend, why I clung to his promise of return—I only know that I did.
“So, what was the kiss like?” Messalina asked, returning to my favorite topic. “You are going to tell me, right? I want to hear every last detail!” She held a pillow to her chest, wrapped her arms around it and leaned toward me, urging, “So go ahead—what was it like? Was it as romantic as you hoped it would be? I mean, after all, it was your first kiss, right?”
I reached for my own pillow, took a long time fussing with it, getting it just right. Though that was all pretense—buying the time that I needed in order to erase the memory of the green-eyed stranger and replace it with an image of Dacian. Then, once that was set, I was free to concentrate solely on the questions she’d asked.
I snuck a smile onto my face, plucked another date from the tray, and said, “The sky was sprinkled with stars—it couldn’t have been more romantic.” I closed my eyes, desperate to see it again. “There was even a shooting star—I’m so sorry you missed it.”
“Did you make a wish?” Her voice so urgent my eyes snapped open just in time to see the serious look that crossed her face. “You should have,” she said, nodding as she added, “you really, really should have. Most people wish for the moment to never end—or at least for the feeling to never end—and the wish is always granted, it never fails. They get to relive the experience again and again. Beautiful, isn’t it?” She sighed and looked at me, and all I could do was nod in agreement.
16
The next morning, Messalina woke me by jiggling my arm and giggling in my ear as she said, “Wake up sleepyhead—we’ve got a big day ahead!”
I ran a hand through my tangled mass of curls, lifted myself from the massive pile of pillows, and joined her at the trunk filled with what seemed to be an infinite amount of gorgeous, silky things she urged me to choose from.
“Go ahead! Pick something pretty!” She smiled brightly as she watched me riffle through it. Lifting a glossy stream of pink silk woven with intricate gold bits, only to have her snatch it away, and say, “Not that one.” She fought for control of her face, tried to soften the edge, to not look as angry as her voice had already betrayed her to be. “I should’ve told you, I’ve already decided to wear pink today. And since I’m sure you’d prefer to stand out in front of Dacian, you’ll need to choose another color.”
I gazed longingly at the pink. Now that it was forbidden, I wanted it more than ever. Hoping to sway her when I said, “But we are like sisters, right?” I gazed at her from under my lashes. “Well, if we both wear pink then we can be even closer—almost like twins!”
The argument was a good one, sure to win her over, but Messalina wouldn’t budge, wouldn’t even pause to consider. She quickly dismissed it with an impatient wave of her hand, and reached for a dress that gleamed with the deepest shade of cobalt with traces of green woven in.
“This—this is the one, there is no doubt in my mind.” She held the dress before me, urging me to agree, but my excitement was no match for hers, I was still mourning the loss of the pink. “With some sapphire jewelry, or maybe even lapis …” She pressed a finger to her chin as though seriously deciding between the two. “Well, either way, this one will serve you well, of that I’ve no doubt. It’ll bring out your gorgeous blue eyes, to be sure. Dacian won’t know what to do with himself when he sees you!”
Dacian.
The boy who kissed me.
The boy I was really beginning to like—wasn’t I? Messalina seemed to think that was the case.
I fought to keep the facts straight—and yet, every time I tried to retrieve a memory of him, all I could see were swoopy brown bangs, odd clothes, bright green eyes, and a face so comforting yet unfamiliar I couldn’t place it no matter how hard I tried.
I shook my head, desperate to rid myself of the thought. Messalina was staring, sensing a change in my mood, and not wanting to explain to her what I could barely explain to myself, I reached for the cobalt blue dress and slipped it right over my head. And once the complicated array of sashes and ties and jewelry and hairpins were all finally in place—once we were both shiny, and gorgeous, and elaborately dressed—Messalina linked her arm with mine, and said, “And now, let the games begin!”
The Colosseum was amazing, like nothing I’d ever seen before. My head forced to swivel from side to side in an effort to take it all in. Following Messalina into a private, shady box where all of Roman nobility sat, I turned to her and said, “Wow, look at all of these people! Is it always this crowded?”
“It is when Theocoles appears.” She studied me carefully.
I nodded, vaguely familiar with the name. He was a champion. Went by some crazy nickname. Though I was quick to dismiss it, hardly interested in those particular details. I was more interested in finding Dacian.
“I hear Dacian’s been asking about you all morning.” Messalina smiled as though she’d just read my mind. “I hear he arrived early in anticipation of seeing you again.” She leaned closer, giggled softly into my ear. “So let’s not disappoint him, let’s make sure everything is in place, shall we?” She stood before me, held me at arm’s length as her gaze moved over me. Checking to make sure all was in place as she brushed a finger over my brow, saying, “Perfect. You are just perfect! I hope you enjoy the show, Aurelia—and believe me when I say that one never forgets their first time at the games!”
She pushed me toward Dacian who reached for my hand and guided me to our seats where he immediately began chattering about the day’s program.
The procession came first, quickly followed by games that were every bit as violent and gruesome as I assumed they would be. And yet, it wasn’t long before I found myself sliding toward the edge of my seat, caught up in the same excitement as everyone around me. Cheering, and clapping, and stomping my feet—fully engrossed in the spectacle of horrific, unimaginable death, as one after another, the carcasses—both animal and human—began to pile up.
And when Theocoles took center stage, it became immediately clear why he was so revered. He was charismatic, magnetic, a bright and shining star in a sea of charmless brutes. The type of warrior one could easily pin all of their fantasies on.
The battle began, and I rooted along with the rest of them—greedy for more carnage, more slaying, more wounding, more bloodshed—consumed by an insatiable appetite for destruction that the previous battles had merely whetted. Torn between an eagerness to see Urbicus fall—torn to small, bloodied bits—and an eagerness for the show to go on, and on, and on so I could always feel so engaged.
My gazed riveted to the arena, eagerly following every blow, every leap, every swing of Theocoles’ sword—until someone moved into the space right before me and blocked it from view.