“Yes,” she said. “Though while it is true that the majority of them were slaves, make no mistake—they were among the strongest, bravest, most fierce of all. My uncle had an eye for these things. Other ludus owners watched him quite closely in the slave markets, trying their best to outbid him, but they rarely succeeded. My uncle had very deep pockets, along with a sort of second sight—a gift for these things—if you could call that a gift.” She waved a dismissive hand, causing the sparkling ring on her finger to catch and reflect the torchlight. “Though, that’s not to say that they all began as slaves. I know it may seem strange to you, but there were also those who volunteered, those who signed a contract with my uncle—eagerly exchanging their time and talents for the possibility of winnings and glory. Being a gladiator held its own unique brand of honor—they were both respected and feared. You must realize, Riley, that the Colosseum easily housed up to fifty thousand people, and more often than not, it was filled to capacity. I guess you could say they were like the rock stars of their time—they ruled the arena like gods. Boys who hailed from soft lives and nobility mimicked their moves, while countless women swooned over them—their affections displayed in the small, blood-dipped swords they’d pin in their hair.”
She slewed her eyes to the side, her face taking on an expression I couldn’t quite read, and despite hearing everything she’d just said, there was one part in particular that I couldn’t quite grasp.
“So you’re serious—people actually volunteered to fight in the arena, and risk a grisly, violent death?” My eyes grew wide. I couldn’t imagine such a thing. From what little I knew, the arena had been a savage and brutally terrifying place.
“There were many reasons for that,” Messalina snapped, her voice adopting an annoyed, impatient tone. “Some more complicated than others, I might add.” I was just about to gently prod her for more, when she waved her hand before her, smiled sweetly, and said, “So, tell me, what do you think of the party?”
I glanced around the room, not quite sure how to answer. Suddenly feeling shamed by my initial reaction of awe, the thrill of being part of it all, and no longer able to view my surroundings in quite the same way as before.
All of those bright, shiny people who seemed so glamorous just a few moments ago, now appeared savage and depraved, immoral and bloodthirsty in the very worst way. All of those servants bearing the heaping platters of food were not there by choice—they were just as enslaved as the gladiators. Slaves to the house instead of the arena, but still slaves all the same.
“Are all of these people ghosts?” I asked, directing the conversation to a more neutral subject, partly because I was reluctant to annoy her again, and partly because I really was curious. “Are all of these people choosing to haunt this place?”
I gave the room another once-over, wondering why so many slaves would choose to linger in such a wretched, thankless role. But then, it was just like she’d already told me—every ghost had a story. And while I hoped someday they’d find a way to move on, that wasn’t my job. I was there to learn about Theocoles, to focus on the lost soul that had been assigned to me, and no more.
“Some are ghosts, some are not.” Messalina shrugged. “My intention was to re-create the celebration exactly as I remember it, so that you can better understand the world that Theocoles lives in.”
“So, where is he?” I glanced around the room without really expecting to find him. After all, Theocoles was a slave, a gladiator; I seriously doubted he had any real part in this world—or at least not this side of it—the more glamorous side of it. “Is he here? Was he allowed to come to parties like this?”
Messalina nodded, her face cautious, guarded, her arm rising, finger pointing, as she said, “He is right over there.”
I followed the gesture to where a group of gladiators stood at attention, their arms and legs shackled, as a crowd of partygoers stopped to inspect them. Pushing and prodding as though the fierce warriors displayed before them existed for no other reason than to quench the crowd’s morbid amusement.
I started to rush toward him, but didn’t get very far before I was stopped by the firm grasp of Messalina’s long cool fingers encircling my wrist. “Not now.” She looked at me, her smile tight, forced, not the least bit genuine. “You will meet him soon enough, I give you my word. But for now, we have much more pressing matters to attend. We must find a new name with which to call you.”
I looked her over, my face dropping into a frown, not liking the sound of that, not liking it at all. I mean, how could that possibly be more important than my meeting Theocoles? And besides, wasn’t it enough that I’d changed my appearance? Now she had to mess with my name as well?
But before I could lodge a complaint, a slave bearing a large clay jug brushed up against me, bumping me in a way that set me so off balance, got me so spun around, I found myself facing the opposite side of the room where I saw something so incredibly startling, all I could do was freeze right there in place.
Only this time it wasn’t a shiny, reflective surface that distracted me.
This time it was a boy.
A boy who looked at me in a way that … well, in a way that I’d never been looked at before.
With curiosity.
And intensity.
Along with a healthy dose of unmistakable interest.
The same way boys used to look at my sister, Ever—the way they looked at Messalina—but never, not once, at me.
Or at least not the old version of me.
My face grew hot while my hands went all shaky, and I continued to stand there all frozen and stupid and utterly foolish.
I had no idea what to do. No idea how to react. I was as clueless to the customs of the time as I was to being stared at by boys.
I continued like that, a frozen, gaping mess until Messalina finally stepped in and saved me from my own awkward self, when she said, “It’s like I said earlier, you not only need to look the part—you also need to play the part. C’mon, it’ll be fun.” She reached toward my forehead, smiling as she ran a finger across the width of my brow, pushing a loose curl to the side—the feel of her touch stealing my anxiety and leaving calm in its place. “I’ve done the hard work for you—I’ve narrowed it down to two choices, either of which will do, either of which will suit you. So go ahead, you choose—which name do you prefer: Lauricia or Aurelia?” Her eyes flashed as brightly as the jewels that swung from her ears. “Hurry! We must decide quickly,” she whispered, nodding toward the opposite side of the room, her voice brisk and impatient, when she added, “In case you haven’t yet noticed, you’ve managed to cause quite a bit of a stir with one guest in particular. And from what I can tell it’s just a matter of time before he’ll be standing before us, demanding to know who you are, and we’ll need something to tell him, now, won’t we?”
I paused for a moment, acting as though I was giving serious consideration to each name, when the truth is I’d already chosen Aurelia. I’d claimed it the moment I heard it. If for no other reason than it reminded me of Aurora—the most beautiful, serene, accomplished member of the Council, who, as it just so happened, was also my favorite. And yet, it also contained a hint of my own name as well, which pretty much made it the perfect combination.
But before I had a chance to inform Messalina, the boy from across the room was already standing before us. His gaze darting between Messalina and me, as he said, “Messalina, always a pleasure.” He ducked his head low, taking her hand in his so that he could bring his lips to it. Then nodding toward me he added, “And who is this you’ve brought with you?” His gaze locked on mine.
Messalina shot me an anxious look—unsure what to call me. Though it’s not like it mattered. At that moment, it was like time was suspended.
As though the entire party was set on pause.