Free Whisper by Alyson Noël Page A

to all that we really must attend to your dress. Perhaps you need a little freshening up, no? After all, Dacian is in quite a stir, and we don’t want to disappoint him, now, do we?”
    I gazed down the front of my dress, noting that, yeah, it was a little wrinkled, a bit dust-covered from my time spent in the ludus, a little bit worse for the wear, but still nowhere near as tragic as she seemed to think. But just as I started to protest that I was just fine, that I wasn’t about to follow her anywhere until she explained a few things, she looked at me with those warm brown eyes, lifted a cool hand to my brow and brushed a finger lightly against it, and the next thing I knew I was agreeing to it all. The dress, the hair, the jewels, the luxurious box that her uncle owned, which also, according to Messalina, was the best, most important, most comfortable, most sought-after spot for viewing the games.
    “You should consider yourself quite lucky to sit there,” she said.
    And the thing is, I did feel lucky. I felt really, really incredibly lucky, in more ways than one. Every single thing that had once been missing from my afterlife was now in my grasp.
    I’d been longing for a good friend, a friend so close we were like sisters—and I’d found it in Messalina.
    I’d been longing for a chance at a bit of fun and romance, and because of Messalina, I’d found it in Dacian.
    I was one of the privileged few. I was lucky, lucky, lucky. My life was wonderfully good. And it was all because of her .
    The moment we entered the box, Messalina let go of my arm and hung back. Watching with an amused smile as Dacian rushed toward me, went about the whole bowing/ hand-kissing ritual, before leading me to the seat beside his, where I pretended to listen as he chatted on and on about the day’s program.
    There were wild-game hunts in the works, a group of prisoners to be executed, and bippidy blah blah, on and on he went. Having no idea that I was well beyond caring—immersed in a land where the only things that interested me were how amazing I looked in my new lavender dress—and how amazing I felt whenever Dacian’s eyes flitted toward mine.
    “And then of course once that’s all said and done then it’s time for the great Theocoles, who’s set to defend his title as the Pillar of Doom. As I mentioned last night, this may well turn out to be his very last fight. I suspect that’s why the Colosseum is filled to capacity—he’s a very big draw. Many of the spectators have already placed their bets on his fate, and I must admit, you can count me among them. In fact …”
    His words faded, edged out by the one that continued to play in my head: Theocoles.
    Why did the name hold such importance?
    Why should I even care about the fate of some gladiator slave who could very well be facing his final day?
    I leaned back in my seat, confused by the way the name made me feel.
    “Did you say it was his … last fight?” I turned toward Dacian, aware of a vague yet insistent nudge coming from someplace deep within me, egging me on.
    Dacian nodded. “Theocoles has more than just his life riding on this fight—and no matter the outcome, it promises to be quite a spectacle, indeed.” He lowered his voice conspiratorially, caught up in the excitement of being the first to inform me. “He’s garnered himself quite the fan club, as you will soon see. And it’s not just because the stakes are so high, but because he knows how to put on a show. In just a short amount of time he’s learned how to win over the crowd. Theocoles discovered early on that an important part of a gladiator’s survival is not just skill with a sword and a drive to conquer and win—but also to ensure that the crowd stays entertained. It’s not enough just to slay your opponent—the crowd will tire of that rather quickly. Blood and gore—blood and gore …” He made a bored face. “As you will see, by the time all the ravaged carcasses are dragged from