Whisper (Riley Bloom 4) - Page 10

I lowered my lids, imagining the way I’d look without that annoying, greenish-tinged glow—and when I lifted them again, it was gone. Easy-peasy—simple as that. Leaving me with a perfected version of the newly improved, glorious me.

Messalina stared, her eyes bright and anxious, playing at the rings she wore on her hands, eager for me to react in some way, let her know how I felt about my sudden transformation, and I was quick to relieve her.

“This is everything I’ve dreamed of for so long!” I ran my hands over my dress as my face curved into a grin. “I feel like a butterfly that just burst free of its cocoon.” My eyes met hers, wondering if there was any way to express the full depth of my gratitude. “I truly have no idea how I’ll ever go about thanking you,” I said, meaning every last word.

Messalina smiled and reached toward me. Capturing my hand between hers, she led me away from the room. “No need to worry about that right now,” she said. “We’ll have plenty of time for that later, to be sure. But for now, just a few final touches.” She stopped before a beautiful tray where she scooped up a pile of glimmering, golden rings, taking careful consideration of the offerings before selecting two she then handed to me. “They’re exact replicas of the ones I wear.” She smiled, holding her hand up and wiggling her fingers for me to see. “I hope you’ll consider this as a seal of our friendship.” She watched as I slipped the rings onto my fingers, her grin growing wider when the task was complete. “Actually, we are closer than friends now, we are more like sisters, wouldn’t you agree?”

I frowned, all too ready to disagree. Being friends was one thing, pretending to be sisters was another thing entirely. I already had a sister—one who I loved, and admired, and greatly missed—one who could never, ever be replaced.

I was just about to tell Messalina as much, when she ran a light finger across the width of my forehead and the strangest sensation swept over me. A swarm of kindness, and acceptance that made all of my former loneliness disappear, until I couldn’t help but think: What the heck? What could it hurt to pretend?

And the next thing I knew, I was smiling and giggling, ready to follow wherever she led. Crooking my arm around hers as she said, “So now, sister, we must hurry—we have ourselves a very glamorous party to attend!”

7

I know it sounds vain. I know it sounds completely self-centered and more than a little obnoxious—but I couldn’t help it—I just couldn’t stop staring at myself.

Every reflective surface I passed became another opportunity for me to gawk, and gape, and marvel, and basically just outright ogle my shiny, new self.

It was the makeover to end all makeovers, and I just couldn’t get enough of it.

“You are quite beautiful, I assure you,” Messalina whispered, her voice far more amused than annoyed, her hand pressed firmly to the small of my back as she guided me down the length of a very large room. “This must be rather exciting for you, no?”

A servant strolled by balancing a long silver platter that my eyes eagerly chased. Dismissing the tall pile of fruit that sprawled along its top, I went straight for the edges, my gaze drawn to the place where my image beamed back, broken and distorted for sure—but still far more pleasing to look at than ever before.

“So, where are we?” I asked, as soon as the servant moved on. It was time to get over myself and focus on the business at hand. But with all the surrounding excitement and splendor, it was getting harder and harder to do.

There was so much flamboyance, so much opulence and wealth, so much sparkly glitz and glamour—my head practically spun on my neck in an effort to take it all in.

Every surface gleamed. Every table sagged under mountains of sweets and treats and towering heaps of delicacies that a parade of servants constantly replenished. The room dotted with petal-strewn fountains, the floors covered by intricate mosaic designs, and yet despite the glorious décor, it was the other partygoers who really stole my attention.

The females all dripping with the finest array of satins and silks, sporting bright, shiny jewels the size of small fists—and the males were no different, dressed in elaborate tunics with glittering braided bits that swooped around the necklines and hems, while thick golden chains swung from their necks.

It was the kind of life one could easily get used to—easily get lost in. After just a short time there, I could already see why some of those other Soul Catchers had chosen to stay. It was the opposite of the world I first stumbled upon—as different from the ludus as you could possibly get.

“The games begin tomorrow.” Messalina’s gaze moved among the assorted guests before finding her way back to me. “And though the games themselves are considered to be the best part of the celebration, think of this as a sort of … kickoff party.” She smiled in a way that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “A party intended to commemorate the start of the games.”

The games, right. Gladiators. Theocoles. The real reason you’re here. Stay focused, Riley—sheesh!

“So the party is for the games?” I asked, knowing it was redundant, but determined to get back on track.

“Indeed.” She nodded. “These games are in honor of the emperor’s death. They are funeral games, as most games are. Meant to honor powerful men whose time has come, and the longer the games run, the more important the man—or so it is thought. And believe me, these particular games are meant to provide the biggest, splashiest spectacle yet. No expense has been spared, as you will soon see.” She gazed around the room again, as though searching for someone, her gaze far away when she said, “Hundreds of gladiators are scheduled to compete, and thousands of wild beasts have been brought from as far away as Africa just to take part.”

I struggled to imagine such an endeavor. Having to remind myself that I was caught in a time that existed long before cars, planes, trams, or trains, all of which made such a journey seem completely incomprehensible.

“They traveled on a series of boats and rafts and then were loaded onto horse-drawn caravans, just so they can die a spectacular death before bloodthirsty crowds that demand nothing less.” She sighed and shook her head, her glorious curls swinging back and forth. “Which is not so different from the way the gladiators will die, some of whom made the trip alongside them.”

“It sounds awful,” I said, my voice turned suddenly serious, my mood suddenly sobered, no longer drunk on my shiny new self.

“It is, to be sure.” She nodded. “Though, I must confess I was once no better than the rest of them.” She gestured toward the glittering crowd. “Panem et circenses.” She pronounced the words easily, with a beautiful lilt I never could’ve managed. “Which translates to bread and circus. The bread being that which they throw to the crowd during the course of the games in order to keep them fed throughout a long day, and the circus being the games themselves. ‘Keep the lower classes appeased by bread and circus, and they will be yours’—or so it was said. But make no mis

take, the upper classes were just as enthralled. I once considered the games and all of those horrible deaths as the highest form of amusement. But then, one day, one of those deaths touched me personally, and from that moment on, everything changed …”

I stayed silent, clinging fast to her words. Realizing she’d just revealed something deeply personal, and wondering if the hint was intentional. Everything about her seemed calculated—there was nothing careless about her.

Was she referring to Theocoles? I’d seen the way she’d gazed down at him from her perch on the balcony. Clearly she’d known him, but how? Had they been close? The idea of it seemed impossible. They were from two different worlds—two different worlds that sometimes overlapped, but still.

“Weren’t all of the gladiators slaves?” I asked, trying to keep my tone casual, figuring she’d cut me off the second she sensed I was prying. She had an agenda—of that I was sure—one she controlled as tightly as she controlled her own world.

Tags: Alyson Noel Riley Bloom Fantasy
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